


This joy within my heart is a miracle I could never have met on my own

by dontlookitsfilthy



Series: The feelings we exchange can remake our destiny [1]
Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Bad Puns, Chara is a memer, D/s, DFAB Chara, DMAB Frisk, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Multi, Netflix and Chill, POV Asriel Dreemurr, POV Second Person, Polyamory, Post-Game, Self-Esteem Issues, Threesome, Undertail, body image issues, gender-neutral frisk and chara, post-pacifist route but with references to at least one violent neutral route
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-20
Updated: 2016-07-13
Packaged: 2018-06-09 14:52:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 42,554
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6911635
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dontlookitsfilthy/pseuds/dontlookitsfilthy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Asriel’s partners aren’t having a good time, Asriel comforts them with tea, cuddles, and sex.</p><p>… Mostly sex.</p><p>Characters are in their mid-twenties. Established relationship.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. World’s Best Ambassador

**Author's Note:**

> Cross-posted from my sin tumblr: http://dontlookitsfilthy.tumblr.com/post/144615159387/fic-this-joy-within-my-heart-is-a-miracle-i-could  
> That link will take you to a very NSFW place, please exercise caution and also only click if you are 18+.
> 
> This fic was done as a request for a friend! It is also very self-indulgent and **explicit as hell.** Only proceed if you want the smut.
> 
> This fic's title comes from a translation of the song Kirai Hoshi ni Naru by Tenpei Satou.

When you arrive home, Chara is curled up on the enormous living room couch, alone. They almost disappear into the plush cushions where they’ve wedged themself into the corner. They’re not that much smaller than you, as they remind you frequently, but right now they look so _tiny_ , with their legs pulled up and their shoulders hunched in. Bite-sized, as though the couch might swallow them up.

They’re wearing the big headphones that block out other sounds so they can listen to their music or podcasts without distraction, and they’re knitting with an intense focus. Already a pile of multicoloured squares has formed next to them; looks like soon enough you’ll have a new afghan to give to—probably Alphys, you think, is next in the rotation. You notice the reason for the headphones as soon you as shut the door behind you. There’s a steady, sharp noise coming from the direction of the kitchen. It’s distant, and deceptively quiet, but the repetitive thwaking noise is still distinct. You frown. You’d been halfway expecting it, but it’s no less worrisome for having known.

You move over to stand in front of Chara and wait for them to notice you before you reach for them. It doesn’t take long for their fingers to still and their big eyes to angle up; you’re large, and you’re standing in their light. They rest their knitting on their legs and lift their head to really look at you, sliding their headphones down to rest on the back of their neck. You bend to kiss them, setting a hand on their knee to stabilize yourself, and they lean up to meet you.

“Welcome back,” they say, quiet, when you part.

You make a little hum, and your eyes flick up to the kitchen, then back down to Chara. “Have they been out there since you texted me?” Chara nods, a frown of their own settled on their lips. One of their hands has come up to rest on yours.

“Yes.” You think they might like to say more, but they press their lips together in a thin line. It’s taken you about forty minutes to make your way home since receiving their text. That’s a concerning length of time.

You squeeze their knee, and offer them a smile that you hope is reassuring. “It’s all right. Let’s go get them.” Chara nods, looking down. You kiss the top of their head, and straighten up. You know they’ll follow you once they set their knitting and headphones aside.

The kitchen has a sliding glass door to the wide backyard, and it hasn’t been shut all the way, admitting the sharp noises from outside into the house. At least the screen’s been pulled to keep bugs out, and you make sure to slide it back to closed behind you as you exit. The backyard is large, with open expanses of vibrant green grass and well-maintained plots of flowers and vegetables both. Chara takes great pride in their garden, and there’s little they love more than when Frisk will cook a meal with the things that Chara has grown themself. Fresh pesto from the large, leafy basil plant, sun dried tomatoes, fajitas that utilize the rainbow of bell peppers which stand in a proud line—Frisk’s repertoire only grows as Chara’s garden does.

Right now Frisk is not interested in the carefully tended plants. They are not checking on the tomatoes, and they are not stopping to smell the chrysanthemums. They stand at the far border of the yard, by the wall of trees that unofficially ends the property. There’s a stick gripped tight in their hand—even from here, you can see the places where their dark skin has gone white—and as you watch, they swing it into the trunk of the tree in front of them, again, again, again, the sharp crack of noise echoing out, again, again, again.

Most of your friends might be surprised to find Frisk angrily beating up a tree. Most of your friends know Frisk as the gregarious and peaceful human who freed you from the underground. Your friends did not see the timeline where Frisk didn’t know how to avoid Doggo’s blue attacks and lashed out in response, hurt and enraged, until Doggo was the one who stopped moving. Your friends never saw Frisk, tired of dying at Greater Dog’s paws, give up on trying to placate the big guard. They never saw Frisk attack Papyrus with desperation born of not knowing what else to do, when nothing they said or did made him stop throwing magic at them, only avoiding killing him by virtue of his massive stores of HP. And Frisk tries very, very hard to make sure that nobody else ever _will_ know about their temper.

They’ve gotten a lot better, the older you’ve grown. Their own sincere efforts combined with years of therapy have done wonders, and it’s been a few months since you’ve needed to catch their fist as they haul it back, and gently pry the stick from stiff fingers.

Frisk goes still as soon as your hand is around theirs. Their breathing stops, and you guide them by the arm to lean back against you, as if you were leading a partner in a dance. Frisk moves under your direction just as readily, and as soon as their solid body falls against your chest, you hear them inhale deeply. Their head comes to just under your chin, same as Chara’s does when you hold them, and you love how neatly the three of you fit together.

Speaking of. Chara’s caught up, and now they circle around you to face Frisk and gently take their hand from yours, leaving you free to wrap your arms around Frisk’s middle and hold them close. They’re still stiff and rigid in your arms, wound tight with tension and shivering intermittently. You can see the blisters on their skin, red and swollen and some of them open, spread across their palm and fingers. Chara brings Frisk’s hand up to their mouth and lays feather light kisses on their knuckles, and you hear Frisk’s sharp intake of breath between their teeth. Not for the first time, you wish your magic worked as well on humans as it did on monsters, but your healing abilities affect the soul directly and do little for physical hurts.

“Sorry,” Frisk whispers. “Made you worry.” Their low voice is often quiet, but even you have to strain to hear it now. You wonder if Chara can, or if they’re simply watching the shape of Frisk’s mouth over the words.

“And at the top of the list of things which we have told you do not require apologies,” Chara teases, but they also keep their tone soft.

“Hypocrite,” Frisk accuses, a trickle of warmth in their words to match Chara’s gentle needling.

“As if I ever apologize,” Chara says, with a roll of their eyes, but you both know what Frisk means. Still, Chara’s sarcastic deflections have done the job, and you feel Frisk relaxing against you, letting you support more of their weight. You give them a little squeeze, and their left hand comes to rest atop yours.

“Should we go back inside?” Even as you ask, Chara is already dragging Frisk by the hand—actually, that’s not accurate. Their pale fingers are wrapped around Frisk’s wrist, avoiding the blistered skin of their hand. Reluctantly, you let Frisk slip out of your arms as Chara pulls them back toward the house. You follow, shutting the door behind the three of you once you’re inside, and Chara tugs Frisk toward the bathroom.

Chara’s fussing now as they drag Frisk along, and they put Frisk’s hand under the faucet, their thumbs rubbing the dirt away under the running water. The raised bits of skin are pink and shining, and you very abruptly find that you have to be somewhere other than the bathroom, immediately.

“I’ll—make us some tea,” you say, backing away and out into the hall, and Chara shoots a knowing glance at you over Frisk’s tousled mop of hair.

You can’t begrudge Frisk their method of venting. Goodness knows you’ve got your own coping methods. But most of the time, Frisk comes to a stop on their own, after a few minutes. It’s rare for them to get to a point where they need you and Chara to intervene, and for you to be faced with the distressingly familiar sight of raised blisters on fleshy human palms. And then you make Chara deal with it, instead of you. You’re the worst.

No. Thinking like that isn’t going to help Frisk, who obviously needs your and Chara’s support. You fill the kettle at the sink and set it to boil, then pull out the mugs and strainers and tea. You can be the worst later. Right now you are the Supportive Boyfriend, and you are making tea just the way you know Frisk and Chara like it. Anyway, you’d only get in the way if you tried to help them patch up Frisk’s hand—you can’t ever keep track of human first aid. What gets neosporin, what gets hydrogen peroxide? Do blisters get band-aids, or do you leave them exposed to the air? You at least remember that aloe is for burns, but everything else is far too complicated.

Instead, you concentrate on what else you can do to help. You do have a bit of an idea of what might have upset Frisk. As heir apparent to monsterkind, you naturally frequent the same political circles they do, and to say there have been some unpleasant characters making waves of late is an understatement.

‘There are a lot of Floweys out there,’ you’d warned them, a long time ago. And you’d done your fair share of upsetting them—and worse—back then. You know which buttons were likely pushed to get them to this state. You know first hand just how horrible you have to be to get Frisk’s carefully cultivated control to crack.

If you’re being honest, you’d like to kill whoever is responsible for this. Unfortunately, you can’t just kill people whenever you want to anymore, and anyway, you’d want it to stick, so being able to reset and wipe the slate clean isn’t even a factor. You huff out a sigh. While you were busy working yourself up into rising irritation, the kettle’s come to a boil. Just in time, it appears, as you catch sight of Frisk and Chara moving into the living room. You pour the water, set the timer on your cell phone, and carry the mugs out.

Chara’s drawn Frisk on to the sofa with them. Once more, you’re gratified that you’d insisted on buying the huge, brand new, L-shaped sofa. At the time, you hadn’t realized you’d have to spend _actual weeks_ convincing Frisk and Chara that they didn’t need to trawl craigslist for free furniture and that you could actually afford to buy nice things for your home, but you’d stuck to it. The time you spent has proven absolutely worth it; the three of you together need the space, and your partners have since been unable to hide how much they enjoy the soft texture of the pillows.

Right now, Chara lies back, able to fully stretch out across the cushions, and they pull Frisk on top of them to settle between their legs. Frisk sags heavily, their cheek against Chara’s chest, one arm hanging down off the couch. Chara rubs circles on their back, and you can see their torso expand as they breathe deeply, then let it all out in an audible exhale.

You set the mugs down on the coffee table and sit close enough to pull Frisk’s legs over your lap. Chara’s toes dig into your thigh, and you raise an eyebrow at them. They grin at you over Frisk’s head.

“Do you wanna ta—” you start to ask, before your cell phone chimes. You can see Frisk’s shoulders move in a silent chuckle as you turn off the alarm and remove the tea leaves from the mugs.

“A conundrum,” Chara comments. “Do we sit up, after just getting comfortable, or do we let the tea go cold?”

“Don’t waste tea,” Frisk replies, their voice muffled in Chara’s shirt. They shuffle just enough to rise on their elbows and grab their cup—you’d picked their favourite, the one with World’s Best Ambassador written on the side. Chara leans up too, and you feel that position must be uncomfortable, neither of them bothering to sit up fully, but they both seem happy enough as they bring their mugs to their mouths. You try not to worry too much about the possibility of Frisk spilling their tea on Chara.

“Anyway,” you try again, “do you want to talk about it?”

Frisk’s mouth pulls into a thin line, but then they nod, taking another sip. “Didn’t want to make a big deal,” they mutter into their cup. “Didn’t realize how mad I was.”

“Big or little, you know we’re always here to help you,” Chara chides from under them. “Isn’t that the sort of thing you’re always telling me?”

Frisk makes a humming noise, but says nothing else. You and Chara let silence fall, as Frisk nurses their tea and assembles their words. If they’re speaking in public, be it to politicians, paparazzi, newscasters, or strangers, they’ll say just about anything as soon as they think it, without hesitation. It’s when it’s only the three of you that they choose their words with such care.

When they set their empty cup down on the table and shuffle to lie on their side, squeezing themself into in the small space between Chara and the back of the couch, their eyes fall shut. “It’s not just that people are proposing awful laws again,” they say. Which, well, there goes your hypothesis. There have been a number of laws that would infringe on monster rights, as well as those of certain groups of humans, being proposed recently in the states. As always, the legal system in the USA is a tumultuous clusterfuck of contradictions, with different laws on the federal and national levels and inconsistent enforcing. More often than not, the source of your and Frisk’s headaches with negotiating monster residencies and dual-citizenships is when a monster has decided they’d like to live in the USA. “It’s when I see videos of the speeches, and so many people are cheering for something so hurtful. It was too much.”

Ah. You set your own mug down—still half full, because while Frisk can decimate a hot beverage in minutes, your own tongue is a little too sensitive for that. Now free, your hands come to rest on Frisk’s calf on your lap, and you rub at the back of their leg, feeling firm muscle under their pants. Frisk’s breathing becomes notably louder almost instantly, and you apply a little more pressure with the pads of your fingers. You can’t simply tell them not to worry, that it’s only people talking, that there’s no way such laws will pass. You can’t tell them not to watch the recordings. You can’t tell them it’s only words, because Frisk knows better than anyone the power words have. Instead, you promise, “We won’t let them pass.”

Chara’s grin is cruel, flat on their face. “I’ve been watching the news too, you know. I’ll help you tear those idiots apart.” On the last few words, their voice drops low with promise. Chara’s normally content to watch you and Frisk work from a distance, and the two of you are good at your jobs, Frisk as the cherished Ambassador, you as the beloved Prince. But sometimes, you need a third perspective, and Chara is undeniably skilled at cutting to the heart of an issue and providing you and Frisk with the words to drive your points home during those tense summits and conferences.

“Didn’t wanna make you,” Frisk mumbles. “Know you hate having to deal with…” They trail off helplessly, flopping one hand up in a gesture that apparently is supposed to encompass politics and the cruelty of humanity. It’s probably your fault that they can’t finish their sentence, but you just dig your thumb into the spot at the back of their knee that sometimes makes them squeak. You’re not disappointed this time, and they shove their face into Chara’s shoulder.

“True,” Chara says, even as they smirk at you for your antics. You smile back, and start to work your way down Frisk’s leg, towards their feet. “However, your consideration is sweet, but unnecessary. I like the two of you more than I hate everything else.”

Frisk raises their head just enough to make sure that Chara is no longer holding a cup of hot liquid, before they throw an arm over their chest and cling. You choose that moment to slide Frisk’s shoe off and let it fall to the floor, before pressing your thumbs into the spot just under the ball of their foot. Frisk groans, jerking up against Chara. You can see their ears reddening.

“Crafty, Asriel,” says Chara, eyes gleaming as they raise a hand to run their fingers through Frisk’s hair. “Asking them if they want to talk, then rendering them incapable of speech.”

You open your mouth to protest, but Frsk beats you to it. “Like this better,” they manage to say around heavy breaths into Chara’s shoulder. You start to tug their sock down—today’s is striped, alternating magenta and neon green and black. You think it was part of a set of novelty Halloween socks that Sans gave to them. You can hear Frisk draw in a sharp breath and hold it in anticipation, and Chara’s grin has filled out into an actual expression of satisfaction as Frisk holds on tight to them.

Your paw pads, which for some reason fascinate both of your partners, come into contact with the bare skin of the sole of Frisk’s foot, and they let out a loud moan. You can see them tremble against Chara, and—oh. Well. The movement is small, but undeniable, as their hips buck up. Chara raises their eyebrows at you, sly, and you have only to wait a moment before they act. With you holding up one of Frisk’s feet, it’s easy for Chara to slowly slide a leg between theirs. You don’t stop, working your fingers between Frisk’s toes, and they shiver and gasp and roll their hips, pressing against Chara’s knee.

“No wonder you finished your tea so quickly,” Chara teases. “You’re quite thirsty, aren’t you?”

This time Frisk’s groan is exasperated, but you move your fingers and the sound is quick to transform to one of pleasure. Chara snickers, and then shifts, wiggling down the couch until their shirt’s ridden up and their face is level with Frisk’s. (They don’t bother being gentle where their feet hit your thighs; you give them a glare and they only smirk back.) The next moan you draw out of Frisk is muffled, as Chara leads them into a deep kiss. Your hands still for a moment as you stare, watching Chara’s teeth gently close on Frisk’s bottom lip. Their face is redder than normal, and their breaths louder, but they appear otherwise unaffected, unlike Frisk, whimpering and unable to stop their hips from making little thrusts against Chara. You’re reminded that you were doing something when Frisk starts to take their foot back, likely having assumed you’re done. You let them, and then pull the shoe and sock off their other foot.

Their hands are buried in Chara’s hair as the two of them kiss, but Chara’s fingers rake down Frisk’s side and belly before finding the hem of their shirt and tugging up. It’s awkward, the both of them on their sides, but Chara’s determined and Frisk somehow finds the leverage to prop themself up without breaking the kiss. Chara lets go once they’ve pulled Frisk’s shirt up enough to expose most of their chest, all the excess fabric bunched up just under their collarbone. Pale hands splay over their ribs, before Chara drags their fingers up over Frisk’s nipples, one hand making a detour to playfully run through the sparse patch of dark hair on their chest.

Between Chara’s attentions and your ministrations on their other foot, Frisk hasn’t stopped making those low moans except to gasp for air when they pull away from Chara’s kisses. You know they don’t always believe it when you tell them how much you love to hear them enjoy themself, but the fact is that your pants are feeling a bit tighter than they were several minutes ago, and you shift in your seat. Chara’s heel presses into your inner thigh, letting you know that they absolutely noticed your slight movement.

Mercifully, when next Chara and Frisk part, they suggest, “Perhaps we should move to the bedroom?” You haven’t stopped massaging Frisk’s foot, so instead of saying anything, they only nod. Much like yourself, when coherent thought and pleasure compete for Frisk’s attention, coherent thought is always the loser. Speaking at this point is difficult for them; forming a complete sentence, near impossible.

Frisk’s breaths go high and sharp when Chara’s hands leave their sides, and you know they’re holding back a whine as Chara slips from the couch to stand. They do whine when you set their foot down on the sofa and rise to join Chara. For a moment they lie there, breathing hard and watching the two of you with dark eyes, and you allow yourself to stare back, appreciating the sight of Frisk with their shirt half off, their chest rising and falling with heavy breaths, their hair a disheveled mess, and their pants with a small tent between their legs. They curl and uncurl their toes as they start to catch their breath.

Chara elbows you in the side, though without any force at all, just enough to get your attention. They incline their head toward Frisk and raise their eyebrows, as if to say, ‘Well? We can’t very well give them a chance to recover themself, can we?’ You smile back despite yourself, and then turn to Frisk.

They cry out joyfully as you pick them up, one arm under their knees and the other at their back. Their arms come immediately to wrap tight around your shoulders, and, taking advantage of having them so close, you bend your head down to kiss them. Their mouth is warm and soft, and you’re only able to pull away by promising yourself that you’ll get to kiss them more once you and Chara get them to the bedroom. Chara leads the way, getting the door for you, and Frisk quietly giggles when you have to turn sideways to get them through without bumping their feet on the doorjamb.

You sit them on the bed and finish what Chara started, tugging their shirt off. They obligingly raise their arms for you, and as soon as they’re free of the garment Chara is next to them, mouth at their neck and hands on their chest. Chara coaxes them onto their back, fingers trailing down the gentle curve of their belly and along the line of curly hair that begins under their navel, and Frisk moans and bucks their hips up into empty air. You balance yourself with a knee on the bed as you lean over to kiss Frisk’s gasping mouth, and your own hands trace over Frisk’s hipbones before you start to undo their belt.

You’ve got their pants undone and halfway down their thighs when Frisk pushes their hands against your chest and makes a noise into your mouth that _isn’t_ a moan, and you pull back immediately. Beside them, Chara, too, has stopped, though not before leaving several red marks on Frisk’s collarbone.

“Are you okay?” you ask, a little breathless. Frisk nods, their fingers curling in your shirt.  

“‘M good,” they say, their voice low. “But I’m not doing anything for you guys.”

Your thoughts immediately go to your hard dick straining against your pants. Frisk has no idea just how much they are doing for you simply by being themself. But that’s not even the point.

“Is that all? Frisk,” says Chara, rubbing their hand flat along Frisk’s sides and stomach, “you had a rotten day, and now we want to make you feel good. Let us spoil you.”

“But,” Frisk starts, and is silenced by Chara’s finger on their lips.

“If you really want to, you can make it up to us later,” Chara says. “For right now, we want you to enjoy yourself. Okay?”

Frisk nods, and then closes their lips over Chara’s finger, their eyes fluttering shut and their cheeks hollowing slightly. You hear Chara’s quick intake of breath, and they murmur, “You dirty cheat.” Frisk hums around the finger in their mouth, looking pleased.

You slide their pants the rest of the way down, and then bring your hands back up their legs, your thumbs lightly running along their inner thighs. Their dick is trying its hardest to stand tall, straining against their boxers patterned with bright and colourful cartoon characters. You can’t help it; you snort back a laugh.

“When did you even get these,” you ask, as you work your fingers under the elastic waistband. Looking up, you see that Chara, too, is fighting back laughter. Frisk props themself up on their elbows to see what you’re talking about, and a wide grin splits their face as they let Chara’s finger slip from their mouth.

“Like ‘em?” they ask, waggling their eyebrows up and down. “Really set the mood,” they add, somehow delivering the line without laughing. They give their hips a little wiggle, and that’s what sets Chara off into quiet, restrained laughter.

You can’t even think of a response except to roll your eyes, though you’re chuckling too as you tug their underwear down. Frisk’s cock springs free, and your own pants feel much too constricting. You pull Frisk’s boxers the rest of the way off their legs one-handed as you thumb open your fly.

Now that you’ve got their clothes off, you’d like very much to kneel between Frisk’s legs and take them into your mouth, but you and Chara exchange a look, silently agreeing that would bring things to a close too quickly. You probably wouldn’t want to stop once you got started, and you haven’t spoiled Frisk nearly enough yet. Instead, Chara tugs at their arms. “Get up on the bed all the way,” they say, and maybe they meant to sound commanding, but their tone is much closer to needy. “And lie down on your front,” they add, as Frisk scoots up the sheets.

Instead, Frisk sits themself cross-legged by the pillows, doing absolutely nothing to hide their erect cock, completely at ease with their nudity. Their gaze travels up and down Chara, then you. “You, too,” they say, and then clarify. “Your clothes. I want to see you both.”

You’re sure your nose must be flushed bright pink at that. You’ve never quite been able to achieve the same ease and comfort in your own skin that Frisk exhibits. Maybe it’s lingering insecurity that your two human partners don’t actually find you attractive. Maybe it’s the thousand other body image issues you managed to develop between your adolescence and now. But, in the same way that you love to hear Frisk enjoy themself, you know they honestly want to see you, even if you can’t understand the appeal.

Chara’s hand on your shoulder pulls you to stand, and they meet your gaze as if to silently ask permission, their small hands coming to rest on your chest and fiddle with the buttons of your shirt, but nothing more. You nod, and as they begin to pop open the buttons, you lean down to kiss them. Might as well give Frisk a show while you’re at it. Chara sucks on your tongue and runs their fingers through the thick fur on your chest as they push your shirt open, and it’s your turn to groan helplessly. You fumble for the hem of their shirt, but as long as they’re working on yours they refuse to raise their arms, and you abandon that effort to move to their pants. They aren’t wearing a belt today, and you slide their pants and underwear down in one motion, letting gravity do the rest of the work once you get the clothes past their hips.

They break the kiss when they finally get to the last button on your shirt, and you can’t shuck it off fast enough, helping them as they push it past your shoulders. Finally they let you tug theirs up and over their head, raising their arms obligingly. Their binder comes next, and they have to wiggle as you ease it up, but at last all of their pale skin is exposed and you can’t stop yourself from running your hands over every inch of it. You thumb their nipples and they gasp, you drag your claws lightly down their sides and then bring your hands around to cup their ass and pull them to you, kissing them deeply and rolling your hips against theirs.

From the bed you hear Frisk’s breaths coming loud and quick, and you and Chara manage to break apart, though it takes you a few tries before you stop darting back in for just one more kiss. When you’re at last able to look, you find that Frisk has stretched their legs out, leaned back into the pillows, and started to leisurely stroke themself. (They’re using their off hand, and for a moment you wonder why, until you remember the state of their right hand.)

“You little sneak,” Chara hisses, eyes narrow and smile long across their face. They step out of their pants pooled around their feet, and toe off their shoes as they approach the bed. Frisk’s breath hitches, but they don’t stop the slow, lazy motion of their hand, grinning as Chara gets up on the bed to crawl over to them.

You nearly trip in your haste to get out of your pants and boxers, all but kicking them off. Neither Chara nor Frisk notice; Chara’s put their hand over Frisk’s, holding them still and running their thumb over the slick head of their cock. Frisk’s head falls back and they cry out, and Chara leans down so that when they whisper, their lips brush against Frisk’s earlobe, their breath ghosts down their neck. “Not yet,” you hear, and Frisk whines and bucks their hips as Chara intertwines their fingers and drags their hand away. Perhaps in apology, Chara presses a kiss to the soft skin just under Frisk’s jaw, before coaxing them to roll over onto their stomach.

You join them on the bed, you and Chara sitting on either side of Frisk, and Chara trails their fingertips down Frisk’s spine before pressing down at the small of their back. Frisk’s moan is muffled into the pillows, and you add your efforts to Chara’s, your hands tracing the angles of Frisk’s shoulder blades and the muscles of their upper arms. It never quite fails to fascinate you, all this exposed skin with only the lightest covering of thin, almost invisible hairs, nothing like your own fur coat. It’s so easy to see the shape of their body, the way their skin stretches over muscle and bone and fat, the dimples at the small of their back where Chara presses their thumbs now, the little bumps of vertebrae that stick up at the base of their neck. You drag your fingers up and through Frisk’s messy hair, and they shiver and moan under your touch.

Their skin is not completely smooth or unmarked, dotted with spots that are either freckles or moles (you can’t remember the difference, though you know there _is_ one). There are a few white marks of scars that stand out from their warm skin tone, one or two of them actually indented when you run the pads of your fingers over them. You lower your head and trail kisses behind the path your hands take along their skin, and are rewarded with another shuddering moan.

One of Chara’s hands moves up Frisk’s body to meet yours, and you look up to find them staring at you. You give Frisk’s shoulders a squeeze as you raise your head to meet Chara, and maybe it’s because of how the two of you are focused on drawing out Frisk’s enjoyment, but this time when you come together it’s slow and unhurried. Chara lays light kisses at the corner of your mouth, runs their tongue over your eyeteeth, sucks at your lower lip, and coaxes a noise out of you that echoes the ones Frisk hasn’t stopped making.

When they pull back, you start to lean forward after them, nearly overbalancing before you catch yourself. You wind up leaning a bit of your weight on Frisk’s back, but they only groan happily from the extra pressure. Chara smiles at you, small and coy, and their bright eyes move from you to focus on something else. You follow their gaze to where their hand cups the curve of Frisk’s ass, and as you watch, their fingers slip between their cheeks. By the way Frisk all but yells into the pillow and pushes back up against their hand, you know exactly where Chara’s fingers have disappeared to.

“Frisk,” you say, and your voice is barely a whisper; you swallow and try again. “Can I…?”

“Please!” they cry into the pillow, and you can see their hands fist in the sheets.

You scoot to the side of the bed, your dick bobbing along as you move, hard and nearly aching. In the nightstand is the lubricant, a little plastic bottle that’s smaller than your fist, and you’re quick to return to pass it over to Chara. You can’t do this part; your claws and the fur of your fingers make it impossible, and at this point you’re pretty sure there’s no way Frisk could do it themself. But that seems fine with Chara. They pluck the bottle from your hands and pop open the cap, and soon enough they’re working their slick fingers into Frisk. They’re breathing hard even as they pull loud and desperate cries from Frisk, and they hardly notice as you take the bottle back so you can slick yourself up. In your efforts to show Frisk a good time, you’ve maybe drawn this out too long; you have to stop stroking yourself and catch your breath in order to avoid finishing yourself off right there.

Chara slips their free hand under Frisk’s stomach and pulls them, pliant and gasping, up so that they’re sitting on their knees, their back to Chara’s chest. Their cock is flushed darker than the rest of their skin, moisture beading at the head, and they roll their hips helplessly forward as Chara’s fingers continue to move in them. They reach one hand back and find purchase on Chara’s hip; they hold the other out to you, and you let yourself be pulled against them. Their kisses are sloppy and uncoordinated, and you drink up their breathless moans before you duck down to trace the contour of their jaw with your tongue. Their hand fists in your fur, and it sends a jolt of need straight down to your cock.

You know they’re ready when they start trying to form words, breathlessly begging, “Please, Chara, Asriel, _please!_ ” Over their shoulder, you can see Chara looking quite smug. You know when they take their fingers back, as Frisk cries out and falls forward, grinding against you.

“Okay,” you whisper, your hands falling to their hips to hold them steady. As incredible as it feels to have their dick sliding against your own, you want to be inside them. You don’t want to end this yet. “How do you want to…?”

It takes them a moment, as they shudder in your grasp, panting open-mouthed, before they can manage to answer. “I want to be able to see Chara,” they whisper, slowly. “I want you behind me.” They open their eyes to fix their gaze on you. The brown of their eyes is deep and intense, a rich shade that never fails to pull you in. “Your arms around me.”

Your cock twitches at their words, and they have enough presence of mind to smirk at your reaction. You can see Chara shiver, before they tug at Frisk’s shoulders. “Let’s get you situated, then,” they say, and you can hear their voice catch when they fall short of the calm and unaffected tone they were aiming for.

Chara pulls Frisk to face them, and you resettle your hands on Frisk’s hips as they lean back into you, practically sitting in your lap. Slick with lubricant, your cock slips between the cheeks of their ass, rubbing against them, and they groan, low and needy, pushing back. You can’t help it; you cry out, pressing your forehead against the back of their neck and taking deep breaths, trying to hold them still even as your own hips want to thrust up.

Chara’s firm grip on your cock startles another cry out of you, your eyes flying open to see them grin at you. “Now,” they say, positioning you, and when Frisk pushes back again, your cock sinks into them.

Neither of you can keep quiet at that, Frisk’s voice loud and full as they cry out, you failing to bite back a moan. They’re tight and hot around you, and you’re still sliding up into them, slow and sweet and wonderful. Their back is pressed flush against your chest as they take you in completely, and you can feel them shiver. Remembering the other part of their request, your arms come around them, holding them close.

“ _Yes,_ ” they breathe, long and drawn out, and they rock back against you. Your hips thrust up in response, pushing another cry out of them, and you are not going to last long at all. Sitting on their knees in front of you, Chara leans forward to cup Frisk’s face with one hand, their other disappearing from your view. When Frisk shouts and clenches around you, though, you have a pretty good idea of what Chara’s other hand is up to.

You start to move in earnest, then, and Frisk eagerly meets you, leaning forward into Chara’s touch even as you hold them against yourself. Their thighs hit yours with each thrust, as you bury yourself in them, and their cries grow louder and louder, more and more frequent, short and desperate shouts into Chara’s shoulder. You move one arm to support yourself, hand on the bedding, as you lean forward for a better angle, and though the adjusted position means Chara can no longer stroke them, with your next thrust Frisk yells and drives their hips back. You’re not bothering to bite back your own moans any longer, nearly matching Frisk for volume as you feel your pleasure building higher and higher, steep and hot and pulsing.

Your orgasm hits you almost by surprise, and you try to hold it back, but with a final loud cry you’re coming into Frisk. Your hips keep moving, quick and shallow little thrusts, as you hope you can bring Frisk to that point with you, but their cries taper off in needy and unfulfilled want as you slow. Your orgasm ebbs, and you roll your hips as your dick softens inside them. They groan, but you can’t do more than press apologetic kisses to the spot between their neck and shoulder.

Their next moan is muffled as Chara moves in to kiss them, and you flinch, overly sensitive, as they rock against you. You pull back so that you can slip out of them, though you still hold them like they’d asked, and over their shoulder, you see Chara’s arm moving, the short back and forth of quick strokes. It’s not long at all before they’ve got Frisk crying out once more, only this time their shouts reach one final high point before they tremble against you. You have no idea when Chara managed to grab tissues, but they have one now, and you’re grateful for their foresight as they prevent Frisk from making a mess of the sheets.

Frisk sags in your hold, their breaths loud and heavy, and you pull them down with you to lie on the mattress. You can feel your heartbeat starting to return to a normal pace, your lungs starting to recover. You’re ready to fall asleep right now.

You open your eyes when you feel Frisk start to squirm out of your arms, not quite remembering when you’d closed them. From your sideways vantage point on the bed, you can see Chara with their hand between their legs, and Frisk crawling toward them, sliding their own dark fingers between Chara’s pale thighs. You’re definitely the worst boyfriend, absolutely useless after orgasm, leaving one of your partners to fend for themself like that.

“Frisk, it’s fine,” Chara says, their voice only wavering slightly, as though their fingers aren’t busy stroking over their clit. “Go pass out with Asriel.”

Frisk shakes their head, pressing a quick kiss to Chara’s collarbone. “Said I could make it up later, if I wanted,” they murmur into Chara’s neck.

“You’re hopeless,” Chara replies, but Frisk drops another kiss to the smooth skin between their breasts, and Chara gasps.

“This is something I enjoy, too,” says Frisk, looking up at Chara from under their bangs before they close their mouth over one pink nipple. The noise Chara makes is quick and high pitched, and followed by several more as Frisk’s fingers toy with their other breast. They lean back to prop themself up on their elbows while Frisk works, but it’s not long before they give up on that and lie down on their back, Frisk on top of them, kissing and licking and touching everywhere on their chest and abdomen, slowly leading a path down their stomach and then backtracking up, making Chara hiss in frustration in between gasps and tiny moans. You watch, intent, as Chara’s fingers weave into Frisk’s dark hair. But they don’t push Frisk’s head down, much as you know where they’d like Frisk’s tongue. They simply leave their hands in the soft mess atop Frisk’s head, occasionally running their fingers through the tangled strands before returning their hand to rest where it was.

Finally Frisk scoots back on the bed, positioning themself between Chara’s legs, and Chara cries out, hoarse, as Frisk’s tongue finally strokes them where they want it. You can’t see much from where you are, but you know just how Chara tastes, how they like it if you alternate between sucking on their clit and flicking your tongue over it, and how they howl—as they are now—when Frisk slips a finger inside them at the same time. Chara grips the sheets tightly as they come, and when Frisk raises their head, their wet lips are pulled in a very pleased smile.

You somehow find the energy to scoot up the bed so you can rest your head on the pile of pillows, and your horns sink in a little bit. It’s probably fortunate that your horns grew in slightly more vertical than curled to the back like your dad’s; with enough pillows propping you up, you can lie on your back without issue. Frisk is quick to scurry up and all but throw themself on top of you, burying their face in the fur of your chest and snuggling close, and having one or both of your partners on top of you is definitely the biggest reason you’re glad you can lie on your back. Chara joins at a slower pace, settling against your side and throwing an arm over the two of you. Their leg rubs against yours, pushing your fur against the grain and then back down, and they lift their head obligingly so you can put your arm under them.

You’re warm and comfortable and spent, and you’re ready to fall asleep. So naturally, Frisk raises their head to ask, “Dinner?”

Chara twists a little against you so they can look up at Frisk. Their grin is setting off warning bells in your sleepy brain, but you can’t quite figure out why until they say, “I can’t believe you’re still hungry, Frisk. You _just ate_.”

“Charaaaaa,” you whine, even as Frisk bursts into giggles on top of you, shaking and burying their face back in your fur to uselessly try to hide their amusement.

Though your partners have to drag you back out of bed, the three of you manage to clean up and make a token effort at putting some clothes back on. Frisk, wearing only Chara’s briefs and knit grey sweater, winds up making you all shrimp fried rice for dinner, and afterward, the three of you sit and cuddle on the sofa while discussing actual solutions to the issues coming out of the states. Now relaxed, Frisk is able to consider different angles of approach to the problem, and as promised, Chara adds their insight and suggestions.

Frisk is smiling, the tension gone from their shoulders, and even though their hand is still dotted with angry red blisters, they relax against you and let out a sign of such obvious contentment that you feel a warm rush in your belly, viscous and sweet like honey. You wrap an arm around them, and from their other side, Chara leans on them and holds their left hand, fingers intertwined.

Knowing you were able to help one of your partners… it fills you with happiness.


	2. You Called For Help

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Additional content warning for this chapter: One character is triggered and recalls past trauma. The specific details of the trauma are not stated, but child abuse is implied.  
> This chapter is cross-posted to tumblr here: http://dontlookitsfilthy.tumblr.com/post/145030588572/fic-this-joy-within-my-heart-is-a-miracle-i-could That link is Very NSFW.

Almost the exact minute you break for lunch, your phone buzzes in your pocket. The timing is more than convenient, and as you reach for it, you see Frisk also pulling out their own. Your uneasy feeling increases as you unlock the screen and pull up the text.

Your hunch proves correct; it’s from Chara. All it says is, _WIll you be home tonight?_

Frisk is looking at you over their phone, and you don’t know if they got the same text, but they certainly got something from Chara. That it was sent right at the time Chara knew you would be free to receive it can’t be coincidence; you wonder how long they were waiting to contact you, trying not to interrupt.

That it asks _if_ you’ll be home is more worrying than if Chara had outright asked you to come home. You and Frisk spent last night in a hotel; today marks day two of a UN conference meant to address the issues that have been a thorn in your and Frisk’s sides for a few weeks now, and by the way things have been going, you honestly don’t expect to be finished for another few days. Thankfully this time you didn’t have to leave the country, and so you _could_ take the bullet train and be home within a few hours.

Chara knows you would return home in a heartbeat if they asked. They’re trying not to bother you, to act like it’s not a big deal and that there’s no need for you to worry, which is usually the biggest indication that you _should_ be worrying.

Frisk comes to stand close to you, speaking low so that only you can hear. “Do you want to go?” they ask. They don’t mean tonight. “I can handle things here.” It’s almost believable. They’re not lying on purpose. They would let you go if you said yes, and nobody but you would be able to read their poker face and know how difficult it would be for them to carry on alone through the rest of the day. They wouldn’t even think about holding it against you if you left right this moment to support Chara, despite how important this conference is to them. Knowing that something is wrong back home and that you can’t make it better right this very moment must be just as agonizing to them as it is to you.

But Chara would be furious with you if you abandoned Frisk, and that decides it for you. Even as Chara is reaching out to you both to let you know they need help, it’s also clear that they don’t want to compete with the culmination of Frisk’s efforts here.

You have to respect their wishes, and trust that if they _need_ you to leave, to be home with them, they’ll ask you. Chara’s worked hard and for a long time to learn to take care of themself, and that doesn’t just mean eating healthy meals and paying bills like an adult. It’s come to mean recognizing when they’re having a bad day, giving themself the room to have bad feelings and know that it doesn’t make them awful, and trusting that when you and Frisk say you don’t hate them for those things, that you don’t think they’re a burden or a demon, and that you want to help them through the difficult times, you mean it.

And sometimes, it means knowing when to ask for help, too. Even if you and Frisk and Chara constantly need to remind each other that there’s not a limit to the support you’ll give each other, you can’t just assume that you know better than Chara what they really want or need. They’re letting you know that they need help, but also telling you that they can manage until you get home, even if it’s not tonight. You have to trust them.

Fifteen, or even ten years ago, you would have rushed home as soon as you saw that the text was from Chara, let alone read the entire thing. And back then, you would have probably been right to do so.

Then again, ten years ago Chara probably wouldn’t even have let you know anything was wrong. That they’ve gotten to a point where they’re okay with letting you know they need you, even if they’re trying to downplay it, is an incredible change.

“I’ll go tonight,” you tell Frisk. “I’ll come back first thing in the morning.”

They raise their eyebrows at you. “Sleep?” they ask.

Unlike Frisk, you can’t sleep on trains, and you’ll probably be up late supporting Chara in any way you can, whether that means distracting them or talking things out or anything else they need. Frisk is right to be concerned; there’s not going to be very much sleep in your immediate future. “I’ll grab a coffee or something in the morning,” you shrug. Monster coffee, with like 8 shots of human espresso and a metric tonne of caramel added, plus twelve more cups during the day, probably. You might not be as big as either of your parents, but you’re still a boss monster; it takes a disgusting amount of coffee to actually have an effect.

“I’m coming too,” they decide. You actually open your mouth to protest, but their eyes are narrowed in that way that you know means you’ll just be wasting your breath if you try to talk them out of it. You let your shoulders drop and give them a small, fond smile.

“I’ll call the hotel and have them bring our bags, then,” you say, already pulling up the number on your phone. “I think they have a service where they can get our train tickets, too.”

While you make the call, Frisk taps away at their phone, presumably informing Chara of your plans. Before you can grow too ancy over not having replied to Chara yourself, Frisk holds their phone up for you to see the exchange of messages.

_were coming home 2nite, gotta leave again in the morning tho_

_You don’t have to interrupt your schedules like that. I’ll be fine until your conference is over._

_too late asriels on the phone w the hotel our bags r packed deal w it  
u want a distraction til we get there or u wanna be alone?_

_A distraction would probably be best._

_k im callin the cavalry so dont u worry ur cute patoot_  
_well be home b4 u kno it_  
_xoxo_

“Alphys?” you ask, and Frisk nods. The smallest drop of relief falls into the pool of worry churning in your gut, now that you know Chara won’t be sitting alone with their thoughts, waiting for you and Frisk to show up. Alphys understands Chara’s anxieties in a way that most other monsters don’t, so even if they don’t talk about anything (and you’re pretty sure they won’t, they’ll just sit Alphys’s laptop on the coffee table in front of the couch and watch anime), Chara tends to feel less pressured around her when they’re having a bad day.

Of course, you still text Chara yourself once you’re done making arrangements for your late night and early morning train rides. And you keep texting them, even as you and Frisk grab a quick lunch from a fast food chain. (Frisk is still glued to their phone as well, and the two of you grin at each other, silently acknowledging how silly it is for you to be carrying on two separate conversations with your absent partner and not each other. But other than exchanging a smile and joining your free hands together, there’s nothing that needs to be said.) While you eat your sub, you can’t help but miss Frisk’s cooking. The restaurant claims to use fresh ingredients, but after eating meals made from Chara’s garden, you know what fresh ingredients taste like. It’s not this.

The rest of the day passes by much more slowly than the morning did. Frisk seems extra animated and confrontational when they speak, but they don’t appear to be growing angry with the proceedings, and they’re still as diplomatic and charmingly blunt as ever. Despite this, the day ends with you feeling as though very little progress has been made. You’re starting to fear this conference is going to last longer than the week you’d mentally allotted to a worst-case scenario.

You kind of miss having your parents with you at these sorts of things. They always made it look so easy. Even though your title is technically still ‘Prince,’ you've started to assume most of their responsibilities, gradually taking over more and more each year, letting them step back from the spotlight. And even you can recognize that you've grown into your role, that you're managing just fine and you don't need your parents here to hold your hand through everything. But it doesn't stop you from thinking that if Mom were the one attending this conference with Frisk, the two of them would have had all this sorted out yesterday.

(And if your parents were here, you could go back home to help Chara without leaving Frisk alone.)

You have to dodge the usual news crews as you leave, and then you have to go to the hotel to get your bags and tickets, and _then_ the shuttle ride to the station, but eventually you and Frisk are on the train home. Frisk eschews their seat in favour of your lap, curling up against you and resting their cheek on your chest, and within the first half hour of the trip, they’re asleep. Some of their hair has fallen into their face, and with every exhale, the dark strands are blown out, before falling right back over their nose. They’d started the day with their hair neatly combed in deference to the conference, but by now it more resembles its usual mess, all cowlicks and flyaways and what Alphys excitedly calls ‘ahoge.’

You hold them close with one arm, and with your other hand, pull up a mobile game on your phone. You don’t begrudge Frisk sleeping while they can, but the train ride’s going to be pretty boring without them to talk to. At least you can entertain yourself making numbers go up.

You don’t want to wake up Frisk when you finally reach your stop, but you can’t carry them _and_ both of your bags. They interrupt your apology with a wet kiss on your nose, and they’re grinning as they take their bag from you. The two of you are much too tired and done for the night to consider taking the subway the rest of the way home, so you call up a cab. Frisk leans on you during the ride, though they’re not asleep this time. You watch as bands of orange from the street lights travel across their face.

When you finally open your front door, it’s to the sight of Chara, Alphys, and Undyne on the sofa watching something you don’t recognize. The living room’s overhead lights are off, leaving the three of them illuminated only by the transformation sequence playing on Alphys’s laptop. Chara is curled up in that one corner of the couch they favour, and Alphys and Undyne are settled on the other end, giving your partner enough space to stretch out their legs if they wanted to. At the sound of the door shutting, Chara raises their head to look at you and Frisk, and their mouth moves slowly into a small smile. The bags under their eyes seem more pronounced than they were when you left a day ago.

Frisk wastes no time in dropping their bag next to you and going to Chara, giving them a quick kiss before dropping down on the couch next to them and smiling at Alphys and Undyne.

“Welcome home, punks!” Undyne yells as Alphys pauses the episode. She reaches over to ruffle Frisk’s hair, earning a laugh.

“Howdy,” you reply, picking up Frisk’s bag and moving to set theirs and yours somewhere that’s not right in front of the entryway. You switch on the standing lamp next to the door while you’re there—not so much light that it will hurt anyone’s eyes, but enough that you’re all able to see clearly, not relying on the laptop screen. “How’s your night been?”

You listen to Undyne and Alphys’s replies, and you do care about how they’re doing, but so much more of your attention is on Chara’s silent response to your question, the way they tilt their head to rest their temple on the back of the couch, the way their gaze slides off to the side before coming back to you, the way a little line forms between their eyebrows.

Alphys notices the byplay between you, and asks Chara, “D-Do you want to finish this episode before we go? It’s k-kinda late…”

“I’m sorry,” Chara says, taking the excuse Alphys has provided them, “I am much more tired than I had realized. I think we’ll have to pick this one back up next time.”

“N-N-No, no, t-that’s okay!” Alphys stammers, waving her hands at them. “I understand,” she adds, and there’s no doubt that she means it. She’s been there; she gets it. Chara starts to apologize again, and Undyne and Alphys both cut them off, Undyne insisting that there’s no need to worry, while Alphys packs up the laptop.

Frisk hops up to help clean—there are soda cans and empty snack bags from potato chisps and cheese popcorn, and one empty mug with a used bag of tea in front of Chara, which is extremely telling of their mental state, considering they can talk for a solid hour at least about how superior looseleaf is to bagged tea. Frisk prompts Alphys for a summary of tonight’s anime, and the passionate explanation she launches into neatly diverts everyone’s attention so that Frisk can herd them to the door without making them feel like they’re being kicked out. It’s a smooth bit of maneuvering that Frisk absolutely picked up from Mom, and you take a second to be proud, watching them work, before you move to sit next to Chara.

“Howdy,” you greet, barely above a whisper. They respond by crawling into your arms and sitting themself in your lap, their knees pulled up in front of their chest, their feet flat on one of your thighs. They’re wearing a faded t-shirt Frisk got for them ages ago that reads ‘L’enfer c’est les autres’ across the front, and a pair of Frisk’s boxers, black with bright red lip prints all over. Their head is bowed to bury their face in your shoulder, and where their hair parts over the back of their neck, you can see the gold chain of their locket.

You run your fingers through their hair and then down the ridges of their spine, keeping your touch light, barely letting your claw tips trace their form. They make a little humming noise that you feel more than hear, and you repeat the motion.

“Do you want to talk about it?” you ask. This time you get a reply that’s a bit louder, a frustrated and whining sort of grumble. It’s definitely a ‘I don’t _want_ to talk about it, but I know it will make me feel better if I do,’ kind of noise. You keep stroking their back.

You hear Frisk’s conversation with Alphys and Undyne end in goodbye’s and love you’s and see you later’s, followed by the clicks of them shutting and locking the door. Within moments they’re nestled at your side, offering the silent comfort of their presence as they take one of Chara’s hands and run their thumb over pale knuckles. They don’t ask what happened, and you keep yourself quiet too, much as you’d love to find out what upset Chara so you can go erase it from the world. But you know it doesn’t work that way, and you can’t help them like that.

“It’s stupid,” Chara grumbles into the collar of your shirt.

“It’s not,” Frisk says, voice firm and low.

Against your chest, Chara sighs, loud and exaggerated. “You don’t even know what it is, Frisk.”

Frisk’s reply is immediate. “Doesn’t matter.” But they don’t push for anything else.

You press a kiss onto the crown of Chara’s head, your hand still drawing lines down their back. You’re glad tonight’s a night where you can comfort them with your physical presence. There are some times where they can’t stand to be touched, and you’ll give them their space and wait patiently to help them in other ways—you’d wait forever for Chara—but. You’re selfish. You like it when you can help then this way.

“It’s just,” they start again, but they pause between their words. “It was such a little thing, and here I am, this much of a wreck from something so,” and they draw a hissing breath through their teeth, “insignificant!”

“Big or little,” Frisk says, and raises their head just enough to look pointedly up at you. You remember three weeks ago, Frisk lying with Chara on the sofa and admitting they hadn’t considered their own problems important enough to bring up.

“You know we’re always here to help you,” you say, completing the reassurance Chara gave to Frisk then.

“How dare you use my own words against me,” Chara says, but it’s without vehemence. In fact, you think there’s a trace of amusement in their tone.

Silence falls over the three of you after that, though Chara does remove their face from your collarbone so they can look at Frisk over their knees. They keep their head leaned against your chest, and their weight on you is comforting, solid. Warm. When you were kids they’d worried about squishing you—as a human, they’ve always had more physical mass than you, and still do even now that you’re so much larger than they are—but you’ve always, always loved the way it feels to have them rest their weight on you.

When enough time passes that you’re starting to doze under the comfortable warmth of being surrounded by your partners, Frisk asks, “Did you eat tonight?” There’s a pause, before they add, “Real food.” They must have remembered the popcorn and potato chisp bags.

“No,” Chara admits, reluctance colouring their voice into a whine.

“I’ll make something,” says Frisk. Chara groans unhappily, and Frisk relents, “Eat it tomorrow, then. It’ll keep.” You’ve learned, over time, that food preparation is one of the first things deemed too much effort when any of you are stuck in a rut. Having a tupperware or two of leftovers to microwave will ensure that Chara eats properly for at least a couple days, if they’re not up to a meal now.

“You’re too good to me,” Chara grumbles, as Frisk rises. They press a kiss to Chara’s forehead, then poke you in the nose.

“If you’re not eating, bed,” they order. You and Chara both groan, despite knowing your partner is right; you’ll regret it if you fall asleep here. You wrap your arms around Chara as you stand, picking them up with you, and they curl their fingers into your shirt.

“You know you’re not going to simply take me to bed and tuck me in,” Chara points out as you carry them down the hall. “Now that I’m not just crashing on the couch, I might as well brush my teeth and get ready for bed properly.”

You laugh, but you do change direction to detour to the bathroom, setting them on their feet at the door. “Need anything?” you ask, starting to unbutton your shirt. You’ll have to go back to get your bags from where you dropped them in the living room; your toothbrush is there.

“I’m good,” they say, but their gaze lingers on your exposed chest. You feel your face heat up and know your nose is going bright pink. For once, you were only thinking of getting your clothes off so you didn’t fall asleep in them, not anything else. Before you can get too embarrassed, they smirk, and shut the bathroom door in your face.

When you pass back through the living room, you can see Frisk chopping vegetables in the kitchen, a pot of something already steaming on the burner. You grab their bag as well.

Upon entering the bedroom, you honestly want to fall face first into the mattress and pass out right there. Today hasn’t been quite so draining as to merit such a reaction, but knowing already how little sleep you’re going to get before you have to drag yourself back up to catch the train somehow makes your exhaustion even heavier. Undressing is much more of a chore than it should be; you have to forcibly remind yourself to actually drop your clothes in the hamper, rather than simply kicking them in that direction. You join Chara in the bathroom, and you’re able to perk up a little bit when they pretend to be annoyed at you taking up all the room at the sink while you’re both brushing your teeth, but when the two of you finally fall into bed, you could not be more ready.

Automatically, it seems, you and Chara lie on your sides, facing each other. Chara scoots close, wrapping your arms around themself, and they close their eyes as they shove their face into your chest fur.

“I’m happy you’re here,” they whisper, as if confessing to a crime. “I’m so happy you came home. I’m sorry.”

You shush them. “I’m happy to be here for you. Don’t be sorry. I love you.”

They inhale sharply, and you pull them closer, nuzzling your nose into their soft hair. “I love you,” you say again, because you want to. For the simple joy of saying it. For reveling in how the feeling of it floods your soul. For the way you hope it makes them happy to know.

You wake up briefly when you feel the mattress shift under Frisk’s weight. You hadn’t realized you’d fallen asleep, and you wonder how long they spent cooking. Chara lifts their head, also awake, and Frisk whispers, “Just me. Go back to sleep.” They lie down with their chest against Chara’s back and throw an arm over you both, or at least as much of you both as they can reach. Their fingers stroke down your own arm from shoulder to elbow, before they drop their hand and wiggle closer. You let your eyes fall closed again, already feeling your weak grip on consciousness starting to slip.

“There’s a new Disney movie coming out.”

The statement comes apropos of nothing, and you open your eyes. Chara’s still in your arms, but they’ve twisted to stare at the ceiling.

“You might have seen the commercials for it. It’s got these cute talking foxes, the usual sort of thing you’d expect from Disney,” Chara continues. Their voice is flat, and the corners of their mouth tug up. “I knew about it, sort of, but I hadn’t really paid attention whenever I saw an ad for it. If it winds up being any good, I’ll hear about it from Alphys.”

Frisk’s hand has moved to Chara’s shoulder, their thumb rubbing back and forth. This isn’t about the movie, not really. One of your hands is at their hip, and you press your paw pads flat against their skin, moving your hand in hopefully soothing circles.

“The sidekick character in the movie,” Chara says, sharp giggles starting to creep into their voice, their eyes widening so that even in the dark, you can see white all around the bright red of their irises. “His name, it’s,” and they bark out a laugh, short and pained, “it’s the same as the person who—the person who—”

They can’t talk for laughing anymore, bringing a hand up to cover their eyes. They’re shaking in your arms, and the sound of their choked laughter is a thousand blades in your heart.

“I hate this!” they shout, between agonized laughs. “Thousands of people have that name, and I hear it once on the TV and I can’t—” They swallow, and then a derisive giggle tears out of their throat. “It’s pathetic, isn’t it?”

“No,” you say. You bend down to press your lips to their temple. “It’s not.” They grit their teeth, shivering. Their hands are clenched in fists in the space between you.

From their other side, Frisk hooks their chin over Chara’s shoulder, pressing close. “You’re allowed to be upset about it,” they whisper. “It doesn’t have to be logical. It doesn’t have to meet some standard of ‘big enough’ or ‘a real reason.’”

Chara sobs once, loudly, their entire body arcing with it. Small, shuddering cries follow. You and Frisk don’t let go. You stay awake with Chara until their tremors come to a stop, until they can breathe without erupting into laughter, until they let you wipe the tears from their face, until they call you and Frisk idiots for coming back home.

“We’re your idiots, though,” you say, and Frisk hums in agreement.

This time, when Chara chuckles breathlessly, it’s a sound that you can fall asleep to.

 

It feels like Frisk’s phone chimes its happy alarm not five minutes after you fall asleep. You groan, squeezing your eyes shut, and you hear Chara groggily complain, their voice slightly hoarse, “Dammit, Frisk, that noise is way too fucking cheerful for this early.” Frisk chuckles, and you can feel them moving on the bed. You crack open an eye to see them on their hands and knees, grinning down at you even as they blink blearily through their tangled bangs.

“Good morning,” they say, with that scratchy just-woke-up voice that makes the back of your neck heat up.

“It is neither good nor properly morning,” Chara says, and you agree. There’s no sunlight coming through the curtains, and you truly hate being up before the sun is.

“ _You_ can stay in bed,” Frisk points out, crawling over to plant a wet and noisy kiss on their cheek. Chara weakly pushes them away, and Frisk lets them, laughing. They then reach over Chara to tug at one of your ears and remind you, “Coffee.”

You give Chara one last squeeze, before reluctantly taking back your arms and rolling yourself out of bed. At the bereft noise they make, you turn right back around, fully prepared to crawl back into bed, only to see Frisk tucking the covers snug over Chara’s shoulders. They smile knowingly at you, and you slump in defeat.

Frisk has to lead you through most of your morning routine, up to and including tying your tie for you. Before you leave, Chara stumbles half-asleep into the living room, wrapped in blankets, to kiss you both goodbye.

“We’ll be home Friday night,” Frisk promises. “Will you be all right until then?”

“I will.”

Frisk smiles, wide and with their eyes pushed closed from it, and pulls Chara into a big hug. “Love you,” they say.

You can only be considered awake by the most generous definition of the word, but you don’t miss the way Chara’s arms tighten around Frisk before they can bring themself to let go.

 

It actually takes fifteen cups of coffee and espresso to get you through the day. Frisk tries to keep up in solidarity, but they make it through barely four before they have to tap out. Despite the amount of caffeine you’ve spent the day ingesting, when you and Frisk get to the hotel, you crawl onto the king sized bed immediately. Frisk has to manhandle you into taking off your suit, though you’re grateful both for their foresight in preventing it from getting wrinkled, and because you’re infinitely more comfortable lying on the bed in just your underwear.

You’re definitely wearing robes tomorrow. You tend to go with suits to events like this, because sometimes humans are weird when you show up in your traditional formal wear, but you have run out of fucks to give.

Frisk tells you they’re going for a walk to try to work the coffee out of their system, and they promise to pick up dinner while they’re out. You’re asleep before they shut the door behind them.

When you wake up again, the sky is orange and purple through the window, and Frisk is setting two bags down on the little hotel table. One of them, a white plastic bag containing several styrofoam containers, promises to be dinner. The other is an elegant little paper bag with rope handles and fancy script spelling out ‘Chocolaterie’ down the side.

They’re sporting a wide-brimmed blue sunhat which they definitely didn’t have when they left the room. An explosion of pastel flowers adorns it on one side, and little pink ribbons hang from the arrangement and dangle off the brim. On anyone else, the combination of such an outrageous hat and the crisp, navy suit they’re wearing would feel incongruous, but it’s so perfectly _Frisk_ that you can’t help but grin.

When you manage to roll yourself out of bed and go sit at the table, they produce a bright pink rose to tuck behind your ear, and before you’re fully aware of what’s happening, they’ve pulled out their phone and snapped a photo.

“Frisk!” you exclaim, now completely awake, your nose heating up in embarrassment.

They wink at you, and then turn their phone around so you can see the screen. Their texts with Chara are up, and the photo of you has already been sent. It’s terrible; you’re staring dumbly at the camera, slack-jawed and shirtless, flower held in place between your horn and ear.

You’re about to tell Frisk to delete the photo, when Chara’s replies start to show up. Their messages come in quick succession, exclamations of _First of all, how dare you_ and _It’s not fair that he’s so cute_ followed by _Please tell me he’s blushing now, I bet his nose is as pink as that flower._

Your blush, which had _started_ to recede, comes back full force at that last text, and Frisk chuckles and wags their eyebrows at you, wiggling their phone back and forth between two fingers.

You sigh. “Fine.” The word is barely out of your mouth before Frisk has come around the table to throw an arm around your shoulder, holding up the phone and grinning up at it. Despite your embarrassment and your flushed face, you know Chara’s on the other end, and so you smile as Frisk’s thumb comes down on the camera button.

Within moments, your own phone buzzes from your pants on the other side of the room, and you lay your head face down on the table as Frisk giggles and goes to fetch it. They set it in your hands, and then start unloading the take-out containers as you check your texts.

 _Stop being so adorable,_ Chara’s commanded you. You frown at the screen and tap out a reply.

_I am not adorable. I am handsome and debonaire!_

_Did you really just call yourself debonaire? You’re ridiculous. And cute. Send more photos, they give me life._

It’s a request Frisk has no problems obliging for the rest of the week. They’re typically always ready to take a selfie anyway, but you find yourself roped into more than usual over the next couple days. Frisk wears their sunhat to the conference for the rest of the week, and you wonder how much of it is just to dare anyone to say something, and how much of it is to draw attention away from the fact that you switched over to robes mid-week.

Of course, there’s also the fact that they simply enjoy wearing big, bright, colourful things, and how it makes them stand out from the sea of crisp, uniform, boring suits.

The end of the week finally comes, and the moment the day’s proceedings are called to a close, you and Frisk are on your feet and out the door. Your prediction was right, and you’ll have to be back on Monday, nothing conclusive having been decided despite five grueling days spent in debate, but that’s then. You can worry about that later. You have more important things to focus on, now.

 

Now, you’re walking up to your home, and Chara’s opening the door before you can even reach for the handle, and before you can even manage a “Howdy!” their mouth is on yours, their hands fisted in the front of your robe and tugging you inside. Distantly, you’re aware of Frisk picking up your dropped bag and shutting the door behind you, but then Chara’s teeth gently tug at your lower lip, and you whine.

“Miss us?” Frisk teases.

Chara pulls back to give them a glare. Frisk laughs, but you can see their ears reddening as they hang their sunhat up on the coatrack. “Come here,” Chara says, and Frisk obeys readily, standing behind them and resting their hands atop yours on Chara’s hips, lowering their head to bring their lips to Chara’s neck. You take this as your cue to resume kissing them, and Chara makes a happy noise into your mouth when you do.

“Dinner first?” Frisk asks in a quiet voice against Chara’s skin.

Regretfully, Chara has to stop kissing you to answer. You console yourself by bowing your head to run your tongue along the side of their neck that Frisk isn’t working on, though Chara somehow still manages to talk through through your combined efforts. “I have been waiting three entire days for you to come home,” they say, tilting their head to give you and Frisk better access to their neck. “I am not in the mood to wait any longer.”

Neither are you. You missed them _so much._

“Gotcha.” You feel Frisk’s hands leave yours, sliding between you and Chara to travel up their stomach and ribs, before cupping their breasts. Chara’s breath hitches, their head lolls back onto Frisk’s shoulder, and their eyes fall closed with pleasure. Their binder is already gone, allowing Frisk to massage their breasts through their shirt, and the realization that Chara must have left their binder off in anticipation of your arrival home sends a pulse of want through you. You raise your head to kiss them again, and you can feel as well as hear their gasps and little cries.

You start to tug Chara’s shirt up, and Frisk lifts their hands just long enough for you to pull the fabric past their breasts before they return to task. Neither your neck or back will thank you for this later, but you can’t help yourself as you break the kiss and bend down to close your mouth over one pink nipple, Frisk obligingly moving their fingers out of your way. Chara’s voice rises, each little wordless exclamation adding to the growing desire between your legs.

“As much as I love our living room,” Chara gasps out, “I think perhaps the bedroom would be more suited.”

You have no idea how they can manage to not only form words at this point, but full sentences complete with sarcasm. Still, they’ve got a point, and you straighten up. You take the opportunity to admire them—their face flushed bright red, their lips parted, their chest rising with each breath. They’re leaning heavily on Frisk behind them, who’s sucking on their earlobe and has one hand still busy toying with their breast, the other rubbing at the little bit of hipbone peeking out above their jeans.

“Yeah, okay,” you say, unable to think of anything better. Chara brings a hand up to cup your jaw and run their thumb along your lips, and you can’t help but lean forward into them again, your hands moving to cup their ass. Frisk pulls away for a moment, rolling their shoulders to shrug off their suit jacket, and you’re able to tug Chara that much closer, their chest pressed fully against yours, one of your knees between their legs. Their shirt hasn’t fallen down, and you can just see pink areola peeking from where their breasts are pressed against the fabric of your robe. The garment does absolutely nothing to hide or constrain your growing arousal, and you don’t try to conceal it either, letting Chara feel what they’re doing to you. They look up at you, their bright eyes at half-mast, and, very purposefully, they roll their hips.

You adjust your grip and hoist them up without warning. They let out a yelp that quickly transforms into laughter, and they wrap their legs around your waist and their arms around your shoulders. Over their shoulder, you can see Frisk smirk and then move to get the bedroom door for you.

“You just love picking me and Frisk up, don’t you,” they tease, their lips at your ear. “You big, strong boss monster, you.” You know they’re being facetious, but their breath on the thin skin and short fur of your ear makes you shiver. (And you _do_ like being bigger than they are, being able to hold them in your arms, pretending to yourself that you can keep them safe in your embrace.)

You set Chara down on the edge of the bed, kissing them as soon as you’re not supporting all their weight and it won’t be a disaster if they make you forget everything else that’s not their mouth. You’re not sure if they lean away and pull you with them, or if you lean forward and guide them down, but the result is them on their back and you settled between their legs, kissing your way down their neck, tugging their shirt back up so you can return your attention to their breasts, one nipple between your fingers and the other under your tongue. They’re moaning outright now, interspersed with little gasps when you gently apply your teeth, or when your other hand travels down the soft curve of their stomach to start trying to work the button of their jeans open.

The mattress shifts, and you raise your eyes just enough to see Frisk, now completely nude, kneeling next to you and helping Chara slip their shirt off all the way. That done, Chara brings their hands back down to bury their fingers in the fur around your horns, and you return your attentions fully to their chest. Their next moan is muffled, and you can only assume Frisk is kissing them again.

You hear the wet sound of lips parting, and then Frisk says, “Tell us what you want.” Something in their tone makes your next breath come out in a shaky rush, and Chara gasps at the air over their wet nipple.

“You’re home,” says Chara, arching their back to push up into your mouth. “I have everything I want.” Their voice catches on the last word, as you finally pop the button on their pants and drag the zipper down. They raise their hips so you can pull their pants and underwear down, and while it sadly means you have to abandon their chest, it’s a worthwhile trade, and Frisk’s hand is quick to take the place of your mouth.

“Chara,” Frisk says, insistent. You drop Chara’s clothes at the foot of the bed, and then take the opportunity to tug your robe up and over your head. Of course it catches on your horns—it’s not like you’ve had them for all your adult life, you’d think you’d be used to getting out of clothing without making a fool of yourself, but apparently not. Once you’re free, you toss the robe into the corner, and move to shuck off your boxers as quickly as you can.

When you’re finally nude, you look back up to see that Frisk’s laid themself out next to Chara and is still playing with their breasts, lazily giving gentle squeezes and rolling their nipples between thumb and forefinger, while they place small kisses along Chara’s jawline. They’ve hooked one leg around Chara’s, and Chara’s running their pale, thin fingers through Frisk’s dark hair, and they’re both so gorgeous tangled up in each other like that, and golly but you could watch your partners like this all night.

“Bet you thought about it while we were gone,” Frisk says between kisses. They’re using their flirty voice, deep and low, and Chara whines. “Tell us. Anything you want.” Their hand trails down, over the curve of Chara’s stomach, past the red-brown line of hair under their navel, and when Chara rolls their hips upward, Frisk obliges, their fingers slipping between Chara’s folds to stroke at their clit. Chara moans, full and loud, and it’s as if their voice summons your awareness, because you realize you’ve been standing here staring at them when you could have been helping make Chara feel good.

“Please,” Frisk says, as they curl two fingers inside Chara. “Wanna make you happy.” You crawl back up on the bed to join them, sitting on Chara's other side and making yourself useful, running the pads of you fingers and palms over Chara’s skin. You touch them everywhere you can reach, caressing their breasts, their stomach, their hips and thighs. They're so pale, almost light as your fur in places, flushed bright red in others.

“That's easy,” Chara gasps, pushing into your and Frisk’s touch. “That's everything you do.”

Frisk's hand goes still, and automatically, yours do too, following their cue without even thinking about it. They repeat, “Everything?”

You and Chara both know that tone, and as one, you look at them. Sure enough, Frisk is grinning wide and mischievous, and you might not know _what_ they're thinking, but you’ve seen that face enough to know the specifics don't matter.

“Frisk,” Chara warns, somehow sounding intimidating even as they roll their hips to try to entice Frisk's fingers to move again.

Frisk waggles their eyebrows, taking their hand back so they can support their weight as they hold themself up over Chara. If they didn't look like they were about to crack up, it might be ominous the way they stare down at Chara, their face in shadow and their eyes hidden. You wonder if you should try to deter them, or if you should get yourself out of the splash zone, as it were.

They drop their head, mouth on Chara's stomach, and you hear a loud, wet, farting noise as they blow a big, sloppy raspberry.

“Frisk!” Chara shrieks, laughing even as their legs kick up and they shove at Frisk's broad shoulders. “You unrepentant trash animal!”

Frisk allows themself to be pushed away, laughing too as they roll onto their back. You're trying to fight down giggles, but when Chara shoots a glare of ‘You'd better not laugh,’ your way, it bursts out of you in an awkward guffaw. They roll their eyes at you, and you try again to hold back your laughter, your hands covering your mouth and nose. You just wind up snorting, this time.

“You've absolutely killed the mood,” Chara says, flopping back down with an exaggerated sigh.

“Whoops,” Frisk deadpans, grinning unapologetically. “Guess you gotta tell me how to bring it back.”

“You little con-artist,” says Chara. They reach for Frisk, who rolls over to place a kiss in their palm.

“Tell us now?” Frisk asks, their mirth giving way to a sincere plea.

“If you insist,” Chara relents. They shiver as Frisk kisses along the inside of their wrist.  “I want you inside me,” they say. “And then Asriel, once you’re done.”

Your cock twitches in anticipation, and you let out a shaky breath. “I think we can do that,” you say. For all the work Frisk had to do to get them to admit to it, it's an easy request to fulfill. Then again, that might be precisely why they didn't want to say it, thinking their own desires unremarkable and not worth voicing. But that doesn't matter to you. Simple or complicated, easy or difficult—you’ve always been willing to do just about anything for Chara.

“Like this?” Frisk asks, pushing themself up to their hands and knees and moving to kneel between Chara’s spread legs. Once they’re settled, they slide both hands up Chara’s thighs. They use their thumbs to part Chara’s folds, and you swallow.

“Yes,” says Chara, shuddering as Frisk’s fingers stroke them. They’re so wet, and the sight makes you groan, quiet and restrained. Frisk and Chara both turn to look at you, and Chara smirks, adding, “I’ll ride Asriel. But I want you like this.”

You almost whine. Instead, you make yourself useful and grab a pillow from the pile at the head of the bed, helping Chara settle it under their hips. They grab you by the wrist once you’ve done, keeping you next to them, and the message is clear; don’t touch yourself. They don’t want you to run out of steam too quickly. The way they smile at you, then, fills you with scorching heat, so much so that you’re surprised to not see any fire flaring up at your fingertips.

They nod their chin down, and then move their eyes to look that way as well. As always, you follow their direction, gaze traveling down to where Frisk is positioning themself. You curl your fingers in the sheets as you realize Chara wants you to watch. Their hand on your wrist keeps you steady, their fingers at your pulse, and you don’t think you could look away at this point even if you wanted to.

Frisk’s cock slides between Chara’s wet folds, rubbing against their clit and earning a small, pleased noise, before they pull back and properly angle themself. This time, when they move their hips, the head of their cock disappears into Chara. The fingers around your wrist tighten, and Chara and Frisk both moan as Frisk sinks slowly into them. They go still once Frisk is fully in, breathing heavily, and Frisk drops their head to leave little kisses wherever they can, on Chara’s face, their chin, their collarbone. Chara’s other hand reaches for them, cupping their cheek, running through their hair, and then tracing down their neck, shoulder, arm, until they finally find Frisk’s hand and entwine their fingers.

Almost as if that were a signal, Frisk begins to move, and Chara rolls their hips to meet Frisk’s. The two of them move with perfect harmony, immediately finding the same rhythm, and each thrust pushes little gasps and wordless noises out of Chara, Frisk’s own cries echoing them. Chara lets their head fall back, their eyes close, and they rock their hips in time to Frisk’s, the two of them increasing tempo at exactly the same pace.

No matter how many times you see them move together, it’s just as incredible every time. To think that they’re your partners, to see the love between them, to hear their voices rise together—something in you swells and crests, warm and gentle in your belly.

(Not for the first time, you wonder what it would feel like to be between them, to be moved by that effortless synchronization. But now's not the time for that. Tonight is for Chara’s wants.)

Both their voices are increasing in pitch and volume, moans and gasps growing to yells, Chara’s grip on your wrist tightening further still. Frisk’s hips snap forward quick and hard, and Chara pushes back, their legs hooked around Frisk as if they could pull them closer. The slap of skin on skin is heard in time to their cries, a sound that doesn't result when you move with either of them, your fur muting the impact. Your breath is coming hard, as their movements grow faster, almost frantic, a final rush of rapid thrusts before Frisk cries out and rocks forward into Chara, pushing deep. Chara moans, low and satisfied as Frisk comes inside them. They take their hand back to run their fingers through Frisk’s hair, as their hips roll, slow and shaking, through their orgasm. Frisk drops their head, their hair curtaining their face, and they let out a last shuddering groan.

They press a few more slow, unhurried kisses to Chara’s neck and shoulders, as Chara lowers their legs and Frisk slowly pulls out. They make a small, bereft moan once Frisk sits up, and Frisk bows their head to drop a kiss on the inside of Chara’s knee.

“Chara,” you say, almost without meaning to, your voice raspy. You swallow, and Chara turns their head to smile at you.

“Asriel,” they reply. Frisk scoots back, still catching their breath, and Chara sits up, keeping you locked in their gaze. “Your turn.”

Frisk snorts, and Chara tosses a look over their shoulder at them. They simply grin and flash you both a thumbs up, before settling cross-legged to watch. Their dick, now hanging soft between their legs, shines wet with Chara’s fluids, and your breath stutters in your throat.

“You’re unbelievable,” Chara mutters at them, before they turn back to you. As soon as their eyes fall on you, you surge forward to meet them. They happily open their mouth under yours, their hands coming up behind your head and their fingers combing through your fur. You don’t know where to put your own hands; you run your claws feather light down their back, up their sides; you palm their breasts, and your thumbs flick over their nipples. Their skin is hot under your hands. Fire might sing through your soul, but you think Chara could burn you, if you held them too tight.

“Lie on your back,” they say against your mouth, and you hurry to comply, though the two of you have to move so that your head can rest on the pile of pillows. Once situated, Chara straddles your thighs, their small hands buried in the soft fur on your stomach. They run their fingers up your front, pushing your fur the wrong way, and then they rake their fingers back down, smoothing it over. You fist your hands in the bedding. In front of them, your cock stands tall, eager, and they lazily bring their hands down your stomach, out along your hips and then your inner thighs, before they finally wrap their fingers around you. You cry out as they stroke you once, twice, then rub their thumb across the wet head of your dick. Your breath is coming shallow and quick, but there’s nothing you can do to calm it, not when Chara’s holding you, not when they look at you with a smile that’s tender and predatory all at once. Like you’re a particularly savoury chocolate, maybe.

They scoot up your thighs, bracing their hands on either side of you so they can come down to kiss you. At the same time, they lower their hips on yours, your cock sliding easily between their legs, and they’re so _wet_ , and some of that’s from _Frisk_ , and you whimper and your hips buck up without you meaning to. Chara gasps against your mouth as you rub against their clit.

“Frisk was right,” they murmur, pulling back just enough to look at you without going cross-eyed. “I thought about having you both like this, all week. Every night you weren’t here.”

They shift, raising their hips and lining you up, sinking down just enough that you can feel them, hot and wet at the tip of your cock. You tremble with the effort to remain still.

“Were you thinking of me, too?”

You can’t resist that, but from the way Chara smiles at you, you’re not meant to. You thrust up, and they sink their full weight on you, taking you in completely. The both of you moan, and they don’t give you any time to catch your breath before they’re riding you, as promised. Your hands migrate to their thighs, though you’ve no hope nor attempt to control their movements. They rise up, their muscles taut under your palms, and then let themself fall back onto you, smooth and slick and perfect, as your hips snap up to meet them. Their eyes have fallen shut in bliss, their mouth open as they cry out, and their breasts bounce with every thrust.

You try to start slowly, but Chara has better leverage, and they take over setting the pace, fast and hard, and it’s all you can do to keep up. You brace your feet flat on the mattress, pushing to give them everything you can. Their wordless moans turn into your name, louder and louder, and it feels like each time they come back down onto you, you push into them even deeper. A pleasant pressure is rapidly building inside you, and your own voice rises up helplessly with theirs.

With a shout, they tighten around you, slamming their hips down, and your own orgasm crashes through you, your hips rising off the bed. They all but howl your name, rocking down on your dick as you come inside them. You’re helpless to do anything but keep thrusting, short little motions as that pleasure peaks and washes through your entire body. You and Chara slow to a stop together, your own cries tapering off to breathless gasps. They drop their weight onto you, whether because their arms can no longer hold them up or because they want to lie on top of you, you don’t care. You wrap your arms around them and rest your chin on top of their head all the same. You’re still inside them, growing soft, and you bask in the afterglow, breathing deep. Their own breaths ruffle the fur at your shoulder.

Unsurprisingly, sleep is already calling you, but when you feel Frisk settle next to you, you open your eyes and try to ignore the exhaustion. The three of you practically jumped into bed the moment you walked in the door. You should probably try to put away your bags, have dinner, responsible things like that.

“Glad to be home,” Frisk says. Chara makes a satisfied humming noise, reaching one hand out to find Frisk’s, weaving their fingers together again.

“You’ll have to make them hold the next conference closer,” they say. “You’re not allowed to be away for so long anymore.” It’s a joke—at least partially. They know as well as you that you’ll have to leave again Monday, and who knows how long until the various issues are resolved. Your work, sadly, isn’t often something that you can do from home. They’d never try to keep you or Frisk from that, but you know they would love it if you never left again, too.

“Got that chocolate you like,” Frisk offers.

Immediately Chara is propping themself up on their hands. The motion dislodges you, and Chara makes a little gasp when you slip out, but it doesn’t distract them. “With the raspberries?” they demand. Frisk nods, an easy smile across their face.

“Don’t they sell that same brand here?” you ask, feeling your eyebrows furrow.

“ _It’s not the same_ ,” Chara hisses as they turn to you, their eyes wide and betrayal clear in their voice.

“Got the one with oranges, too,” Frisk interrupts, before Chara can demand how their own partner could gravely misunderstand something so important. You shoot Frisk a grateful smile, and they wink at you.

“I have changed my mind,” Chara declares, ignoring you and Frisk and laying back down on you, one arm over your chest to rest their chin on. Their smile is pure satisfaction, as their eyes flutter closed. “Travel as much as you like.”


	3. Your Best Friend

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I got carried away.
> 
> New content warnings for this chapter: body image issues, extra self-loathing, and D/s. 
> 
> I think that covers everything? I hope you all enjoy this ridiculous conclusion to the smut parade.
> 
> This chapter is posted to tumblr [here](http://dontlookitsfilthy.tumblr.com/post/147378499162/fic-this-joy-within-my-heart-is-a-miracle-i-could). That link goes to a very NSFW place, as always! Please only click if you are 18+, though honestly you shouldn't be here if you're not 18+, either.

You wake up, and it takes several seconds to realize you’re breathing quick and shallow, the rush of air through your open mouth blaringly loud in the silence of the bedroom. It’s dark; no light peeks in through the curtains, and Chara and Frisk on either side of you are still but for the steady rise and fall of their chests. The terror of your nightmare is slow to replace the blank confusion that you woke up with, but as you lie still and try to quiet your breaths, it seeps coolly into your scalp, reminding you of what woke you up. 

Unsurprisingly, you’d dreamt yourself once more bound to the earth, robbed of your limbs and emotions, but not your memories. Your fur and skin replaced by cellulose, petals framing your face. Not Underground, though; you’d emerged from the rich soil of Chara’s garden, digging your roots into the well-tilled and moist earth, drawing as much satisfaction from it as something like you could. From the backyard, you’d regarded your current house, knowing Frisk and Chara were happy and warm and comfortable inside. There was something you were missing, something they possessed and you no longer did. You knew it hadn’t always been this way. You knew it could be  _ better,  _ it had been better once, and why should you settle for this emptiness when you could have more?

You  _ wanted_. Void of emotions, want was all you had, and you moved to act upon it. 

You’d started heading up toward the sliding door of the kitchen, but stopped upon realizing one of your partners was outside with you. You hadn’t seen them leave the house. At first you were sure it was Chara who stared down at you, but in the way of dreams, it had been Frisk as well. 

“I don’t understand,” you’d cried, as you had after stealing the six human souls, after killing Frisk again and again and again, after laughing and laughing and  _ laughing_. “Why are you being so nice to me?”

Frisk had raised the same stick you caught them using to beat up a tree a little over a month ago, and Chara had brought it down.

It’s not a particularly difficult dream to parse. Your brain’s apparently not up to the deep symbolism tonight, going straight to the point. You breathe deep, and then sigh much more loudly than intended, but fortunately Chara and Frisk don’t so much as twitch. (Frisk, of course, can sleep anywhere and through nearly anything. Chara had been a light sleeper when you’d first met them, and they’ll still bolt awake with little provocation, but years of sharing a bed have at least given them the ability to ignore your little sounds and shifts during the night. You’re thankful.)

When you’d all gone to bed, you’d been thrilled to fall asleep sandwiched between them, but right now you’re sort of wishing you’d been on the outside instead, so that you could try to slip away with minimal fuss. At least it's warm enough that you've all kicked the covers off. You manage to sit up without waking either of your partners, but then you pause. You could try to scoot down to the foot of the bed, or you could try to climb over Frisk and hope that they're sleeping heavily enough that they won't notice. (Climbing over Chara is in no way an option; you're surprised they didn't wake as soon as you sat up, honestly.)

You've wiggled your way about halfway down the bed when Chara groans. “What are you doiiiinggg,” they grumble, just above a whisper.

Maybe you should have tried climbing over Frisk after all. “Bathroom,” you whisper, giving their knee a reassuring squeeze and feeling only a little bad about your white lie. They frown, blinking blearily at you, their eyebrows furrowed. “Go back to sleep.”

They grumble, but shift over into the warm spot you’ve vacated, grabbing onto Frisk, who doesn’t react in the slightest. You manage to get your feet to the floor, and pad silently across the room, grabbing your phone on your way out. When you reach the door and look back, Chara’s face has smoothed out once more into peaceful rest. You’re relieved. They have enough trouble sleeping through the night even in the most ideal of circumstances, and the bags under their eyes are there to stay. You would have spent the rest of the day kicking yourself if you contributed to that problem, regardless of knowing that Chara wouldn’t have even seen it as something that needed forgiving. 

There’s no way you’re going back to sleep tonight, though, not after that nightmare. You plop yourself down on the living room couch and pull up a game on your phone, clearing your mind farming for event drops and grinding levels. You have an unfortunate tendency to get a little too involved in certain video games that hit the ‘make-number-go-up’ addiction just right, and as a result, you and Chara and Frisk have agreed to limit how much you spend on micro-transactions per month. Within a few hours, you’ve hit your cap. 

In-game gauges exhausted and levels momentarily maxed, you set your phone face down on your chest and raise your head, blinking away the afterimage of the screen’s glare. Through the curtains, you can now see sunlight starting to push through, and you’ve been hearing birdsong for at least an hour or two. It shouldn’t be too much longer before your partners wake up, and then you can forget about your rubbish morning. You leave your phone on the table as you get up, heading to the kitchen. You didn’t inherit much of Mom’s cooking skills—that’s Frisk’s department—but you can at least manage a boxed pancake mix, chocolate chips, and a waffle maker. It’ll be nice to surprise Chara and Frisk with a hot breakfast. 

Your mind wanders while you mix up the batter, putting together a rough to-do list for the day. Honestly, you should probably call your therapist and schedule an appointment. Your usual schedule was interrupted with all the recent political mess, what with the traveling and conferences and press releases and extra hours at the embassy, and as a result you haven’t been in for a few weeks now. Things have definitely been building up in that time, and while you can’t blame everything you’re feeling now on missing those appointments, you’re at least aware enough to admit that it’s a contributing factor. But if Chara notices you making the call after catching you sneaking out of bed, they’ll put two and two together and realize you’re not simply calling to resume your regular appointments, but that you’re in a rut. You’d call now while they’re still asleep, except the office is obviously closed at this hour, and you won’t be able to guarantee that you’ll be alone when they return your call. Your partners have been under enough stress lately without worrying about you, too. You’ll find some time to sneak away during the day and take care of it.

Chara shuffles into the kitchen as you close the waffle maker on the first batch, which you fully expect to burn because you can never quite remember how long you have to keep them in there, and the first batch always winds up a sacrifice to ensure the success of the ones to follow. (You’ll have to find a way to throw it out without Frisk or Chara noticing, because they’ll insist on eating it anyway no matter how blackened and charred it is.) Rubbing sleep out of one eye, Chara heads straight for you, not stopping until they’ve literally run into you. You stumble back a little, your tail hitting the countertop, as they shove their face into your chest and wrap their arms around your waist. You’re still in only your boxers, so when they let out a muffled grumble into your fur, it tickles. “You didn’t come back to bed.”

“Sorry,” you say, carding your fingers through their hair. You gently work through a tangle at the ends, enjoying the feel of the soft strands between your paw pads. “I was too awake to go back to sleep, and I didn’t want to wake you up again, too.”

They hum into your chest and lean more of their weight against you. You feel a dopey smile starting to form on your face, your eyelids drooping as you continue to drag your claws through their hair. 

You are so, so very lucky. To even be alive—to have a soul at all—to feel this inextinguishable ember of love that glows hot in your chest—to be able to share this life and love with your two partners—you are amazingly, incredibly, undeservedly fortunate. You hold them close and rest your chin on the crown of their head. 

Frisk shuffles into the kitchen, hunched and still mostly asleep. Their eyes still look closed, but when they turn their head and smile, it’s clear they can see see the two of you still embraced, leaning against the kitchen counter. 

Then they wrinkle their nose. “Something’s burning.”

The prophecy is fulfilled, and the first batch of waffles come out as blackened bricks. You’re unable to stealthily dump them into the rubbish bin, Chara having spied the bag of chocolate chips and realized what went into the batter, and Frisk simply refusing to waste food. (You know that even if you raced to dump the burnt attempts into the bin, there’s a fair chance Frisk would actually fish them back out to eat them. They’ve eaten food out of the garbage before, and you don’t just mean back in the Underground when they found that burger in the Core. You mean six months ago, when you’d deemed a box of leftovers past the point of no return, and tried to toss it out without Frisk noticing. You’ve learned to try very hard to make sure there’s only as much food in the fridge as you’ll all reasonably eat before anything goes bad, but sometimes things get by you.)

Chara puts on the kettle, then sits at the table to wait while you work on the next batch. Frisk remains standing with you as you pour the batter for a second attempt, leaning their chest on your back and linking their hands around your stomach. “I’ll tell you when they’re done,” they promise.

“You can’t even see the waffle maker,” you point out, amused, and you feel Frisk’s shrug.

“Don’t gotta,” they say into your back. 

You can’t help but feel that it sort of takes away from the point of making breakfast for your partners when one of them has to walk you through the process, but it’s hard to feel grumpy about having your thunder stolen when Frisk is warm and comfortable and holding you. And at least you made the batter. That’s something, isn’t it? 

Breakfast passes slow and easy. You enjoy the waffles, but you enjoy Chara’s expression when they savour the taste much more. The three of you talk about what to do with your day—a rare free Sunday where nobody is expecting you to go out or make public appearances at any events. Frisk suggests stopping by Bratty and Catty’s shop on The Avenue, a trendy little main street in one of the city’s more tourist-friendly neighborhoods. The two young women have seen a lot of success since opening their shop, and it’s become one of the most prominent places that sell monster-made goods. They also carry some of Chara’s knit projects, scarves and hats and little amigurumi dolls, and you know it makes Chara happy to have their work sold at a monster business. The three of you could deliver some new stock, and then go window shopping at a nearby used book store, or get lunch somewhere (probably Grillby’s; you think Frisk is the only one of you with any real preference of restaurant choices).

“Ugh, you want me to _ leave the house_?” Chara groans, but they're smiling, small and fond. 

“We'll hold hands the whole time,” Frisk winks at them, and Chara brings up a hand to hide their eyes. Under their fingers, you can still see the brightening blush on their cheeks.

“It is much too early for that much flirtation,” the grumble around a grin.

If you’re completely honest, you’d rather stay home and spend the day in your boxers and playing video games, or reading, or watching movies with your partners. Maybe do some laundry, or some vacuuming, even, so you could feel a little productive and less like a gigantic waste. You’re not really in the mood for going out and being seen by people and talking to anyone, even in a casual setting and with monsters as friendly and easygoing as Catty and Bratty. But it’s rare for Chara to meet the suggestion of going out with a reaction as amicable as light teasing and a smile. If today’s a day that they feel up to braving the rest of the world, you’re not going to be the thing that holds them back.

Frisk bullies you into letting them do the dishes, insisting that you made breakfast, so they’ll clean up. When you try to argue that Frisk did half the work in making sure the waffles actually turned out edible, Chara drags you off to the bedroom to get dressed. Frisk winks at the two of you as you disappear down the hall. 

Chara can’t resist giving your tail a little tug before you tuck it under your clothes. (It’s pretty impolite for a boss monster to let their tail hang out in public!) In return, when they turn around to look through the dresser, you trail your hand down the smooth small of their back and give their ass a squeeze. From the way they don’t even jump, you’re pretty sure they gave you the opportunity on purpose. You’re pretty okay with this.

While Chara debates whether or not today is too hot to wear a blazer over their top, you stop in the bathroom to brush your teeth and tidy up, only looking at your reflection long enough to flatten down your fur and fluff up your bangs. It is, unfortunately, also long enough for your brain to remind you of your expectations of your appearance, and how the disappointing reality of the body you've grown into fails to meet them. 

You didn't inherit Dad's impressive mane, but you like the pure white fur you got from Mom, even though a mane like Dad's might make you look a little bigger. And you need as much help as you can get, there. You're a full half foot shorter than Mom, and your shoulders aren't as wide as hers, either. You don’t even want to think about how Dad still dwarfs you. Your arms might be thicker than Frisk's, and strong enough to lift both your partners at once, but for a boss monster, they're embarrassingly thin. In this human sized world, you're awkwardly large, but you know some monsters still look at you and think of you as a little kid, short and still growing. Always the Prince. Never the future King.

It's stupid to be surprised that having to first reform your soul, and then reconnect it to your parents’, wouldn't have at least a couple negative side effects. That it was possible at all is more than you could have expected. Alphys theorizes that, though boss monster reproduction is normally a process that defies entropy, some soul power was lost when the transfer from your parents to you was interrupted by your death. It sounds likely, but you've no way of knowing for sure. (Nor do you have any way of knowing what kind of effects this may have on the transfer of power from your soul to any children you may or may not have in the future.) 

Whatever the reason, you’re scrawny and embarrassing, a runt of a boss monster, your stomach pudgy and your magic weak. Your parents would never, ever say you’re a disappointment, but you suppose anything is better than dust; they’ve lowered their expectations so much that they’re grateful to have you alive at all. They’d probably even be happy having you as a flower.

What are you thinking. You  _ know _ they’d be happy even if you’d remained a flower, as long as you were alive; in those timelines when you’d revealed yourself, they’d easily welcomed you back without hesitation.

Maybe, if that were the full list your physical flaws, you would be able to still find some pride in your appearance. There’s convenience in being smaller than your parents; there’s joy in Frisk and Chara fitting so perfectly in your arms. You still tower over most humans. Really, what’s another six inches, in the grand scheme of things? It’s not like other people see you in comparison to the great monster you wish you’d grown up to be. 

No, instead everyone sees your bad decisions slashed across your face, curving stains of black fur across your cheeks. 

There are still paintings that survived the war portraying your ancestors, the boss monsters who ruled in the past. A few are hung in the embassy, while many others are preserved at the new Museum of Monster History. Some of those former monarchs, immortalized on canvas, have fur streaked through with gold, while others possess regal silver manes. There was even one with brilliant red in their fringe, and another with fur tipped in amber, darker and richer than the honey gold that more frequently appeared. 

Absolutely none of them are marked by fur in the inky black shade of your mistakes. But that’s no less than you deserve, isn’t it? You shouldn’t be allowed to forget how much pain you caused. Even if nobody other than you and your partners remembers what you did, it  _ should _ be scarred across your face, an unavoidable reminder.

To think that when you and Chara had designed the Absolute God of Hyperdeath, you’d thought there could be nothing cooler than growing up to look like that.

Before you can spiral even further down, the bathroom door flies open to admit Chara, who pretends to swoon into your arms. “Asriel,” they implore you, a hand thrown over their forehead as they flutter their eyelashes, “please save me.”

In the hallway, the sight of Frisk answers any questions you may have had about Chara’s theatrics. You hadn’t known they owned a pair of leggings quite so obnoxiously neon. And is their skirt…. tye-dye? Frisk waggles their eyebrows and wiggles their hips at you, and you chuckle and turn Chara around so they can bury their face into your chest, which they readily do. The usual dramatics continue as your partners take care of their morning hygiene, Chara bemoaning Frisk’s fashion choices the whole time. 

Frisk tops off the entire mismatched, retina-searing ensemble with their blue, flowery sunhat, and Chara threatens to turn right back around and spend the day inside after all, rather than be seen in public with them. In response, Frisk links arms with them and drags Chara out the door. 

Normally Frisk isn’t quite this much of an eyesore, but you’ve noticed they dress with more offensively bad choices on days that Chara’s willing to go out, serving the double purpose of ensuring that they draw most of the attention of anyone who looks toward the three of you, and giving Chara something to focus on. Being a huge boss monster, you don’t really have to do anything to make sure you draw what attention Frisk doesn’t, and between the two of you, Chara can pass under the radar.

You have to duck to get on the subway without your horns hitting the doorframe, and on occasions where there aren’t open seats, you often wind up having to spend the whole ride hunched over. This being Sunday morning, you’re able to find two seats in the corner with ease, and you let Chara take the inside one, so that they can hide between you and the wall. Frisk stands next to you, swaying with the motion of the train, keeping track of how far until your stop.

Growing up Underground, when you’d moved to New Home, you’d thought of it as the biggest place in the world. It had taken some time to adjust to the differences from living back Home, in the place that had eventually become the Ruins. In New Home, there were always monsters out and about, down every street, at all hours. It had seemed like there were so many, you might all burst out of the mountain simply by being too much for it to contain. When you’d come to the surface, though, you’d learned what a big population really was. Even Chara and Frisk’s attempts to explain hadn’t come close to preparing you for understanding how many humans there were. The entire population of monsters living Underground was a drop in the bucket of the rest of the world’s inhabitants. And, once your parents and Frisk had secured rights and passports for everyone, it hadn’t taken long for many of your citizens to decide they wanted to see the rest of the world. As in the Underground, not everyone wanted to live in the same kind of city, or the same climate. It’s made more work for you and Frisk, now that monsters have spread out across the world, but you’ll gladly take it on in order to secure your people’s happiness. 

But the long and short of it is that your presence in this city has only shrunk as monsters have left for metaphorically greener pastures, and it will be some time before the monster population grows to a point where you’re not the only monster on the train on this lazy Sunday morning.

Chara spends the ride leaning against you and looking out the window, staunchly ignoring the other humans on the train (barring Frisk, whom they’ve told you hardly counts). When you reach your stop, as promised, Frisk slips their hand into Chara’s and leads the way. You take Chara’s other hand in your own, and they give your fingers a squeeze. There’s not really enough room for the three of you to walk abreast, not in the subway station and not along the sidewalk on The Avenue, but you trail along in a line holding hands like children anyway. 

Bratty and Catty are thrilled when the three of you show up. Despite the hour, their little shop, A Monster’s Treasure (they’d originally been going to call it One Human’s Trash Is Another Monster’s Treasure, but Frisk had convinced them to scrap the first part) is already busy with several human customers. As such, Catty drags Frisk and Chara to the back room to catch up and talk shop, while Bratty remains at the counter to handle any sales. You’re left standing awkwardly between two displays. 

Catty and Bratty are, you understand, Frisk’s friends first, and through that connection, Chara’s business associates. You haven’t really spent much time with the two monsters, and honestly, once Frisk pointed out that they were flirting with you, you’re kind of nervous to talk to them. You give Bratty a weak smile, and she gives you a predatory one, and you back away and pretend to look through the arrangements of souvenirs for sale. 

Naturally, you wind up drifting to the shelf that houses Chara’s wares. You remember the sweater they’d knitted for dad, so long ago, with its huge stitches and uneven texture. Their current work bears almost no resemblance to those early efforts—obviously, you think, they’ve only been at this for upwards of fifteen years. The stitches now are tightly woven, the texture smooth and pleasant under your paw pads. In the current weather, fair and warm, the few scarves still on the shelf probably won’t be moving any time soon, but the cute little animals are, reportedly, doing quite well. A knit white dog stares up at you vacantly with shiny black plastic eyes. Chara’s even given it a little pink tongue that hangs out the side of its mouth. It’s smaller than your hand; you playfully pat its head with one finger.

Your therapist has suggested, a few times, that you take up a hobby that allows you to create something, to have another way to spend your free time beyond playing video games and reading. Not that there's anything wrong with doing those things, but apparently there's something satisfying in producing an end product, a result of your efforts, even if it’s not physical or permanent. You can certainly see the fulfillment Chara gets from their garden and their knitting, or how Frisk beams when you eat a dinner they’ve prepared. And you’ve tried, for yourself. You made the attempt at picking up an instrument, once or twice. You took classes in ballroom and swing for two years, and you’ll still tango with Frisk whenever they ask. But neither of those pursuits managed to continue to hold your interest, so now it’s novels and mobile games.

You used to draw and write, back when you and Chara were children. You made up stories about an idealized and overpowered version of yourself, and then you used that persona to murder Frisk. 

You’re reluctant to pick up drawing and writing again. 

(You sometimes stare at the portraits of the characters in your video games for long minutes, picking apart the approaches to colour and anatomy. You sometimes reread lines in novels over and over again, marveling at gorgeous descriptive similes and wondering if you could ever think of something so eloquent.)

You let your hand drop from the display, and one of your claws hooks on the little white dog’s stitches, sending it tumbling down. Fumbling to catch it, you discover it’s still stuck to your claw only after you’ve pulled a long string of yarn out of its ear. It lands on the floor still connected to you, rolling to a stop and pulling at the threads trailing from your finger to its now nearly-detached ear. 

You stare, horrified, and it remains where it landed, torn thread and vacant stare and all. Tentatively, you bend to pick it up, and, somehow, it doesn’t completely fall apart in your fingers. You hold it in your cupped hands. The loose white thread pools in the pads of your palms, the yarn unwoven with strings falling apart. 

You’re a menace without even trying. Why did you think that you coming along with Chara and Frisk would be a good idea, again?

You’re not going to cry over this. Your nose is twitching and tingling, but it’s okay, Chara can fix it—probably—it’s just a doll, you don’t need to get so worked up over it. It’s just something that Chara put a lot of work and care into crafting, and here you’ve clumsily torn its stitches out. The heat from your nose travels up to your eyes and you bite your lip, even though that’s never, ever worked to delay your tears. You are overreacting. You are a grown monster, and you are not going to cry because you accidentally ruined something your partner made.

Frisk’s arms come around you, and you stumble from the unexpected impact. They must be on the tips of their toes, because they hook their chin over your shoulder, and you find that you’re supporting most of their weight. “Back,” they announce, in case you hadn’t noticed. “Miss me?”

You’re trying to regulate your breathing, which means you can’t quite manage to reply and tell them that yes, the five minutes in which you were alone were awful and you missed them terribly. You can imagine how their expression probably transforms at your continued silence, though, their slight and mischievous smile falling to a concerned frown. But you can’t bring yourself to look at them. Maybe they haven’t noticed yet, but they surely will if you turn your head. “Asriel?” they ask, dropping back down to their feet and coming around to stand in front of you. You keep your head bowed, the blurry little dog in your hands the focus of your vision. “Asriel,” they say again, their voice low, and they bring one hand up to your cheek, tracing the black stains in your fur as they thumb away a line of tears. 

You’re trying very, very hard not to sniffle loudly, so you wind up taking big, shuddering breaths through your mouth. Experience has taught you that if you try to talk right now, you’ll probably just sob, huge and heaving, so even though you want to reassure them that nothing’s wrong, you’re just tired because you woke up too early, and you’re not  _ really _ this upset, you squeeze your eyes shut and don’t say anything.

You hear Chara come up behind you, starting to say your name and then trailing off. You can imagine them and Frisk sharing a silent glance, and you feel their hand on your elbow as the little dog is plucked from your palms. 

“Oh, Ree,” they murmur, “Is this what you’re crying over? It’s okay. I’ll take this one home and have it fixed up in ten minutes. It’s not a big deal.” 

Your shoulders shake, and even with your eyes still closed, you can tell it’s Frisk who takes your hands, their thumbs rubbing little circles into the pads of your palms, a gentle and soothing pressure. “Wanna go home?” they ask, quiet and just for the three of you. You shake your head, your ears flapping. You’re  _ fine_, you don’t need to go home. You want to stay out as long as Chara does. You don’t want to ruin their day, or at least, not more than you presently are.

“All right. Let’s get you calmed down, then,” says Chara, and their hand is at your back, the slightest of pushes guiding you along as Frisk leads you by the hands, presumably to Bratty and Catty’s back room. You hear Frisk speak quietly to the two women, who both reply with assurances that they, like, totally get it, and that you’re totally welcome to a bottle of water from the fridge.

There’s the sound of a door falling shut, and you’re sat in a metal folding chair that creaks a little as you settle your weight. “Just us, now,” Frisk lets you know, and you sniff so loudly the customers in the store can probably still hear you, but you can’t help it. Frisk hasn’t let go of your hands, even though you’re seated; are they in another chair? You try to blink open your eyes, tears sticking your lashes together, and the sight of Frisk kneeling is what greets you. Chara appears at your side with tissues and a bottle of water, then, and you shut your eyes again as they pat at your cheeks and wipe away the tears from your lower lids. 

“There, there, you tragic boy,” Chara says, their voice a comfort around the teasing words. Their hand with the tissue disappears, replaced by their lips on your damp cheeks. You open your eyes only after they’ve pressed a kiss to each side of your face, and one more to your still-twitching nose. They're smiling down at you, their eyebrows drawn up, and you've made them worry.

“I'm,” you start, and they lay a finger on your lips, cutting you off. It's probably for the best; you have no idea if you were about to launch into apologies or deflections, but you do know that neither Frisk nor Chara would tolerate either.

They leave their finger on your lips, the tip set just on the end of your wet nose, and fix you with a stare that you can't look away from. “You're not just crying about the dog, are you?” Their voice just barely lifts in the question, already sure of your answer.

“No,” you whisper, your voice rough to your ears. Frisk, still kneeling at your feet, gives your hands a squeeze. You take in a great, shuddering breath, your shoulders rising and tense with it.

“Here.” Frisk lets go of one of your hands so you can take the water bottle from Chara. They’ve opened it for you already, but you’re still not able to drink it for several moments, shaking and sniffling too much to hold it steady. Once you’ve managed a few sips, you lower the bottle to your lap, and Chara runs their fingers down the back of your head, getting their nails under your fur in the way you like. You let yourself lean into them, and they place their other arm around your shoulder, continuing to stroke your fur with soothing motions. Frisk settles their hands on your knees, their fingertips a comfortable warmth through your slacks. You let your eyes fall closed, and you focus on taking deep, steady breaths. 

“Do you know what upset you?” Chara asks, digging their fingers in at the base of your horns, sending pleasant tingles down your scalp. 

You don’t want to nod and risk dislodging their hand, so you rasp out a quiet, “Yeah.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“No,” you answer, more whine than whisper. 

Frisk gives your knees a little squeeze. “What do you wanna do?” they ask. 

You can’t take this. You push away from Chara so you can shake your head. You want them to drag the answers out of you, you want them to tell you that you’re right to hate yourself even as you wish they’d destroy your doubts and fears. You want to spend the day the way Chara wants to spend the day, not take over everything like this. But they’re not going to know any of that if you don’t tell them, no matter how good you and Chara are at communicating with no more than a wordless glance. Of course they’re not going to push. Of course they’re going to give you time if you act like you’re not ready to talk about it.

“Wanna go home?” Frisk asks, again. You stomp down your immediate desire to say yes.

“I don’t,” you start, your voice a thick obstruction in your throat, “I don’t need to go home. I’ll be fine in a minute. Let’s just—I just want to try to go back to having a nice day out.” It’s not a lie. You  _ do _ want to try to have a nice day out, for Chara and Frisk. You want to make them happy. 

“Okay, then,” says Chara, in a voice that makes your eyes open, alert. “Here is what we are going to do. We are going to go to the park with all the tulips, and then we are going to buy Nice Cream and find a nice shady spot under a tree. We will sit there and cuddle until everyone in the entire city has cavities. And  _ then _ we will see how we all feel about how to spend the rest of the day.” Their fingers on the crown of your head exert the slightest pressure, tilting your head back so you’re looking up into their face. Their eyes are brilliant, piercing and sharp at the corners, but their smile is more tender than you deserve. “Is this acceptable?”

You nod, your throat tight.

Your eyes are probably still kind of red when you leave, but you do manage to dry most of the fur on your face. Catty and Bratty brush off your attempts at thanking them, and if any of the human customers are staring at you, Frisk herds you along so expertly that you don’t even notice. 

The park that Chara has decided on spans several city blocks, and you’re positive your dad has at least helped fund the upkeep of it, if not actually directed the planning for the replanting of the tulip bulbs for the past several years. The flower beds are arranged in graceful arcs around grassy clearings, and leafy trees cast huge blankets of shade over picnicking families. Once more Frisk and Chara’s hands are joined, and once more Chara has grabbed yours as well, refusing to let go even though their fingers can’t even fit around your wrist, let alone your paw. As promised, Frisk stops at the Nice Cream stand, spending a moment to catch up with the vendor before you all continue on your way, sweet treats obtained. Chara directs the three of you to a miraculously clear spot at the foot of a tall tree, almost entirely surrounded by bright yellow tulips in full bloom, save for the little patch of grass in front of it.

You sit leaning against the tree trunk, and by silent agreement, Frisk and Chara each settle in on either side of you, fitting themselves perfectly under your arms. Frisk reaches over you to hand Chara their Nice Cream. With your arms occupied, you’re not really sure how you’re supposed to eat yours, though Frisk is starting to unwrap it. They shift a bit, twisting to lean on their side, and look up at you with an ominous smile. You’re not sure why you’re even a little bit surprised as they hold the Nice Cream up an inch from your face.

“Oh, um, golly.” Your nose is heating up, doubtless pink as Chara’s cheeks. Frisk’s expectant smirk only grows, and Chara, too, is grinning around their Nice Cream as they watch. You gingerly bring your head forward and take a small bite off the end.

“Let’s see some tongue,” Frisk says, voice pitched low, and you almost choke. You’re abruptly very aware of the shape of the frozen treat, and the fact that you may never be able to eat Nice Cream in public again after today. 

Then, the smirk drops from their face. “Is this okay?” they ask, pulling their hand back. Your face is still hot, but you give them a sheepish smile. 

“Yeah,” you reassure them. “You know I’d tell you if it wasn’t.”

They settle down against you and bring their hand back. It’s not until you’ve taken another lick from the Nice Cream, though, that they say, “Don’t always know that.”

You swallow, and meet their gaze. Their smirk has been replaced by a more somber, searching sort of expression. 

“Sometimes,” Chara picks up where Frisk left off, “we worry that you will go along with something you dislike, if you think it will make us happy.”

How are you supposed to respond to that? You look away from Frisk to take another bite of your Nice Cream, and you chew slowly. The one thing you know for sure is that you can’t lie to them. Even if you  _ were _ inclined to, they’d see through you right away. 

“Not—I wouldn’t if it was a big thing,” you admit. “But if it’s not anything important—”

“You’re important,” Frisk cuts in, adamant. You look back to them and their stare locks you into place, the deep brown of their eyes trapping you. “What you want is important. Compromise is one thing, but you have to tell us how you feel, so we know that compromise is what’s happening. If we think you’re on board for everything, we’ll take advantage without even knowing. How…” They breathe deeply, as though reeling themself in. You press your lips together and wait for them. For as sparingly as Frisk uses their words when not acting as Ambassador, you know—they truly want you to understand what they have to say right now. “How do you think that will make us feel, when we realize?”

You’ve messed up. You were trying to make them happy and you’ve really, really messed up. 

“We’re definitely hypocrites to tell you this,” says Chara, resting their head on your chest. Their Nice Cream is already completely devoured, and their fingers toy with the stick, bending it, but not snapping it in half just yet. “Neither of us has the best track record when it comes to… well.” They laugh, quiet and rueful. It’s true, though, that ‘forgetting’ to mention their own desires when they deem either yours or each other’s more important is something Frisk and Chara are both guilty of. You hadn’t thought of this as a problem you had, too. “But, big or little….”

“You know we’re always here to help you,” Frisk finishes. Your nose is doing that tingly thing again, and you scrunch it up. You’re almost definitely about to start crying for the second time today. 

Your Nice Cream, still held in Frisk’s hand, falls off the stick and onto your shirt with a melty plop. 

The three of you stare at it. You’d picked a pretty, lavender button-down today, your sleeves rolled up to your elbows in deference to the heat, and the bright cherry red of the Nice Cream seeps right through the fabric, spreading a dark stain on your chest. 

Chara snorts, then starts giggling. Their giggle grows into a full body laugh, and you can feel them shaking against your side. You look from dessert melting on your chest, to Frisk, who is staring with eyes wide, the empty stick still held aloft in their hand. If you squint, you can just barely make out the words on it: ‘I think you’re spiffy!’

You can’t help it. Your own laughter joins Chara’s, and the motion of your chest jostles the glob of Nice Cream to roll down your shirt, trailing sticky red down to rest, cold and wet, on your belly. Chara practically hoots at that, and even Frisk lets a snicker escape before they cut themself off. “I’m so sorry,” they say, starting to push themself up, and you pull them back to your side.

“It’s okay,” you say, still chuckling. There are tears at your eyes again, but who cares. You nuzzle your nose against the crown of Frisk’s head, as Chara continues to giggle to themself. 

“You know,” Chara begins, “Normally I quite dislike how much we are the focus of the public eye. But right now?” They snicker again, shaking their head. “I will be very disappointed if I am not able to rewatch that moment on youtube, again and again.”

“Cha _raaaa_ ,” Frisk whines, pressing their face into a part of your chest that escaped the Nice Cream spill unscathed. 

“All right,” Chara concedes, “Let’s head home and get cleaned up.”

  
  


You definitely earn extra stares on the way home, with the dark blotches all down your front. When leaving the park, you discover that Frisk’s Nice Cream has melted in the wrapper before they had a chance to get to it; despite you and Chara trying to stop them, they open it up at the top and drink it like a slushie anyway. So, you’re not the only one who goes home with a sticky mess dribbled down your shirt.

(By the time the train reaches the stop closest to your home, Chara’s found someone’s cell phone recording of your Nice Cream mishap posted to twitter. They retweet it immediately, laughing quietly to themself as they watch it on repeat.)

You’d been planning on peeling off your clothes and taking a quick shower once you got home. In the places where the dessert seeped through the shirt’s fabric, your fur’s stiffened into sticky, pink clumps. You  _ hadn’t _ been expecting Frisk and Chara to pull you down the hallway to the bathroom and start running a bath for you. You’re further taken by surprise when Chara produces something that  _ looks _ like a star-shaped, rainbow bar of soap, but which fizzes and bubbles and turns the water in the tub into myriad swirling colours. 

“Bath bomb,” Frisk says. You don’t bother trying to keep the awe off your face. You dip your fingers in the water, reds and purples spiraling out from where your paw submerges; when you lift it, your fur is still pristine white. 

“The women who used to run the Snowdin Inn and Store made these ones specifically for monsters with fur,” Chara adds. They sound deservedly smug at having discovered such a thing before you were aware of it. 

You want to say something—this should be saved for a special occasion, they’d clearly bought it and kept it secret for some purpose, why have they decided to bring it out now? But you know without voicing your thought just how that would go over, so you instead say, “This is so cool.” Which it admittedly is. You can’t look away from the rainbow galaxy forming in the water, mountains of bubbles piling in the tub’s corners. 

Frisk giggles, then helps you out of your shirt and pants. (Their own clothes were abandoned en route to the bathroom, to the tune of Chara complaining that they could at least not leave them on the floor in the hallway.) Their fingers linger on your thighs when they tug your underwear down, a clear hint, and a spark of excitement jumps through your stomach, before they take their hands away.

Chara catches the byplay between the two of you and rolls their eyes. “Clean up, first,” they order, affecting an air of exasperation. Frisk blows them a kiss.

You’d grown up always with large bathrooms, equipped with equally large tubs. As boss monsters, your family had needed them; as royalty, you’d been able to afford the space. So from Home, to New Home, to your house on the surface, a big bathtub was a staple. But you’ve gathered that for Frisk and Chara, being able to stretch out in the bath was not typically an option before they came to live with you and your parents. And of course, when the three of you had gone house hunting for your own place, it hadn’t been something they’d brought up. So you’d quietly made a spacious bathroom one of your priorities, though you had tried not to make it too obvious. Like the time spent convincing your partners to splurge on the larger couch, though, it’s absolutely proved worthwhile. You sit in the tub, your back against one wall, your legs extended fully and your toes not even scraping the opposite end, and Frisk settles themself between your legs, their back to your chest. Chara strips while neither you nor Frisk make any efforts to act like you’re not watching them, and even after they ease themself down into the tub, there’s still enough room for all of you to sit comfortably. 

You relax in the warm water, your tension slowly easing under Frisk’s weight. The bubbles and swirling colours from the bath bomb don’t actually feel like anything, but they’re pleasant to look at. You like the way the whorls of colour spiral around your feet when poke your toes out of the water and wiggle them. You’ve no idea how all the colours manage to stay separate in the water without mixing into a muddy brown, but you’re not going to question it. 

Chara sinks in until they’re submerged up to their shoulders, closing their eyes and leaning back against the tub’s side, and fluffy bubbles nestle in the tips of their hair as it floats on the water’s surface. Their feet rub against your leg, their toes pressing into your fur, just enough pressure to remind you that they’re here with you. You nuzzle Frisk’s ear, enjoying the way they shiver in your arms, and let your eyes fall shut for a moment. 

Your arms around one partner. Your legs against another. Your fingers and toes, curled in the water. Your fur, wet and heavy. Your nose, hot and slightly damp, pressed against Frisk’s skin. You bask in the inventory of physical sensations.

(Your therapist has assured you that it’s not a failing on your part, to still be so affected, even this many years later. That doesn’t make it feel like any less of one.)

“All right,” Chara’s voice pulls you from your thoughts. “Let’s actually clean up before the water goes cold, shall we?” This isn’t actually a concern—considering your fire magic, you can keep the water at a satisfying temperature indefinitely, if you choose—but you open your eyes to see them hand Frisk your bottle of shampoo. Frisk sits up then, turning around to face you and smiling eagerly. You return their smile and reach for the bottle, only for them to pull it out of your reach.

Your confusion must show on your face, because they lean forward to drop a quick kiss on your nose, before they uncap the shampoo and dole out a handful into their own cupped palm. “Lean back,” they tell you.

You don’t quite frown, but neither do you comply. It isn’t like it’s your back that’s dirtied, a place you can’t reach on your own; this is your chest, entirely within your ability to wash yourself. “I can do this,” you start, but then Chara scoots forward, the noise of displaced water around them, and they set their hand on your chest, gentle pressure easing you back. 

“Let us spoil you for once, Ree,” they say. Their voice and smile are both soft. Your mouth shuts of its own accord, and you lie back.

Frisk beams, and then their hands are working the shampoo into the fur on your chest, rubbing out the sticky melted mess between their fingers, digging in down to the roots in the way that’s just right. Your breath stutters as you hold back your voice.

Chara moves again, sliding up to settle at your side, and their own wet fingers start to lather the fur at the base of your horns. You shudder as they massage the shampoo into your scalp. When they get to your ears, their touch is gentle and light, except when they get to the very tips. There, they rub the thin skin between their fingers, using just enough force to make a whine build in the back of your throat. At the same time, Frisk’s hands, wandering across your chest, find your nipples under your fur. They roll both between thumb and forefinger, and your mouth drops open to let out a full, throaty moan. 

Your chest isn’t as sensitive as Chara’s, but you are much more responsive to nipple play than Frisk, though often your fur gets in the way. As such, It’s been a little while since the last time your partners showed your chest any particular attention, and you blame your seemingly excessive sensitivity on that. 

Chara leans in, capturing your lips in a slow, tender kiss, even as they rinse out the shampoo, water sluicing down the back of your head. Frisk’s hands move from your chest to your arm, working their way down, their fingers raking through your fur. When they get to your hand, lifting it out of the water, you jolt in surprise as their mouth closes around your index finger. Their tongue presses against up your paw pad and you shiver; they draw it along your claw, and you tremble. Chara sucks at your bottom lip, eating up your little gasps and whines, their hands cupping your face and their wet thumbs stroking your cheeks.

They pull back, and as your eyes flutter open you see them grinning with satisfaction, before they say, “Now turn around so we can get your back.”

You blink dumbly, and Frisk releases your hand, grabbing the shampoo bottle from where it floats among the bubbles. That’s right. You’re bathing. Your nose heats up, as pink as Chara’s cheeks, and you try to will your half-hard cock to stand down. 

Chara swoops in to give you another quick kiss, before directing the three of you to shift around. You wind up with Frisk behind you and Chara between your legs, the two of them passing the shampoo bottle back and forth as Frisk works on your back and other arm, and Chara lathers up the fur on your legs. They tease you under your knees, but thankfully they use enough pressure on the sensitive pads of your feet that you don’t involuntarily kick out when you’re inevitably tickled. You wind up having to brace yourself with your hands on Chara’s shoulders, though they seem pleased by this. 

Frisk’s hands drift down to your lower back, their fingers pressing at the base of your small tail, at the same time that Chara moves back up to bury their fingers in the fur of your stomach. You nearly shout, your cock jumping back up to attention, as you feel Frisk pressing up against your back, their lips closing on the outer edge of your ear.

“You clean up rather nice,” Chara murmurs, working the last of the shampoo out of your fur. They’re grinning at their own joke.

“Think we missed a spot,” Frisk says quietly around your ear, giving your tail a playful squeeze with one hand, the other creeping around your hip. Your dick twitches in anticipation. 

“I’m sure it’s not important,” says Chara, even while their own hands drift down your abdomen. You moan, unable to find the words to even beg, your hips bucking up in small, restrained motions. You’re leaning more of your weight back on Frisk, but they don’t seem to mind, and when they let out a little hum around your ear, you breathe out their name. 

You’re not  _ really _ surprised when Frisk and Chara focus on  _ actually cleaning _ the fur at your groin, but you do moan in desperation as their fingers travel along your inner thighs and cup your balls, as they work around the base of your cock, as they linger on the underside of the shaft. With one last, playful stroke, Chara pronounces you sufficiently clean. 

“Wosh u goat,” Frisk giggles to themself, letting your ear fall from their lips. 

The water is going tepid by now, and even though you could reheat it easily, Frisk and Chara get weird pruny fingers and toes if they stay in the bath too long. And sex in the tub always  _ sounds _ nice at first, when you’re all riled up and ready to go, but then someone’s knees get sore from pressing on the hard porcelain too long, or one of you slips and falls over, so it’s definitely worth getting out and drying off and moving to the bedroom. 

The three of you are careful as you stand up, holding on to the edge of the tub and making sure you don’t bump each other over. One of the perils of having all three of you in the tub together, as you discovered when you first moved into your current home. Water drips off your partners in thin rivulets as they rise, whereas it comes pouring out of your fur in a great rush when you stand. It’s a little sad to see the colourful water and bubbles swirl down the drain, but now that you know bath bombs exist, you can always get more.

You step onto the bathroom floor mat, and Frisk grins at you. “Do the thing,” they say.

Your mouth pulls to the side in a little displeased moue, and their grin only widens.

Chara leans on Frisk, a towel around their shoulders. Both of them are dripping wet from the neck down, but they’ve managed to avoid getting their hair very wet, only the tips darkened with water. Unlike you, a great, sopping ball of soaking fur. “Come on, Ree,” Chara joins Frisk in cajoling. “Do the thing.”

You roll your eyes, but you already knew you were going to comply as soon as Frisk asked, your resistance barely a token show. Having sufficiently pretended to be put upon, you shake yourself out from head to toe, your ears flapping and your tail wiggling out the last droplets of water. It’s completely unnecessary, considering you could simply dry yourself off with magic in an instant, but Frisk lets out a gleeful noise of delight even as they raise their arms to shield their face, and Chara smiles. You have only the vaguest of ideas as to why they find such a thing entertaining, but what’s important is that it makes them both happy. 

As a result, they’re both about as wet as you are, now, and so you summon your magic. Warm wisps of silvery fire form at your fingertips, and then drift away from your hands to encircle the three of you. Frisk raises one arm to drag their fingers through the harmless flames, the water evaporating from their skin in seconds. Your fur fluffs up, soft and dry, and the moment you let your magic fade away, Chara and Frisk both press against you like limpets, snuggling into your freshly warmed fur with twin sighs. Their bare skin is dry and smooth, the heat of their bodies seeping through your fur, and you run your hands up and down their backs. Your movements garner a shiver out of Frisk, who then tries their best to press even closer to you. (You actually have to adjust your footing when they do.) 

Then Chara slips their knee between your legs, and your semi-hard cock reminds you that all three of you are warm and naked. 

You bend your knees, ducking down quickly, and when you rise it’s with a human in each arm, Chara clinging to your shoulders and Frisk laughing. It’s a little bit of a strain, you admit, but once you’re standing fully it’s not hard to keep holding them up. 

“You are such a show-off,” Chara accuses around a grin.

“I’ll throw you over my shoulder like a sack of potatoes,” you threaten, and Chara tweaks one of your ears. 

“And so sassy, too,” they comment. You only smirk, carrying them both out of the now humid bathroom. Frisk hums happily, running their fingers through the fur on the back of your head and neck. There are few tangles—your short fur doesn’t get in knots, really, or at least not the same way as Frisk and Chara’s hair, in the mornings and after showers—but you’ll still probably want to brush everything down later. 

You let them slip from your arms to stand once you arrive in the bedroom, not really trusting your muscles to let you set them on the bed without falling over on top of them. Of course, the moment they’re both back on their feet, they exchange a look before pushing you down to lie back on the bed. 

“Have anything in mind?” you ask, some amusement slipping into your voice at how they’re double-teaming you. 

“Wanna make you feel really good,” Frisk says, utterly sincere and genuine, and your smirk falls. They crawl up over you while you’re stunned, laying kisses first on the black fur of your cheek, then drifting down to the corner of your mouth, before finally their lips meet yours. Your eyes fall closed and you bring one hand up to the back of their neck, lightly dragging your claws over their skin. They shiver into the kiss, sucking on your tongue, and you moan. 

Chara takes your other hand into their own, lacing their small fingers between your larger ones. You feel their free hand running down the fur of your chest, your stomach, then back up, fingers raking through. They catch on a nipple and your whole body jerks. 

“What would you like, Asriel?” they ask. Frisk pulls away, breaking the kiss and sitting up, panting almost as heavily as you. Your hand drops from their neck to their shoulder, and then down their arm as they rise. You pretend to take the moment to catch your breath, considering what exactly to say.

It isn’t that you have to think about  _ what _ you want. You have several very clear ideas of how you would like to spend the afternoon. But after Chara and Frisk voicing their worry that you won’t be honest about your desires, that you’ll prioritize their happiness over your own, you don’t know how ask for the one thing that’s foremost at your mind. Honestly, maybe it  _ is _ prioritizing them over you; you don’t pretend to understand your own feelings well enough to say. All you know is that you want it. And your other fantasies you’d like to try out—how can you ask for things that greedy, after being spoiled so thoroughly already, after interrupting what could have been a nice day out—

“Stop that,” says Chara, frowning down at you. “I can see you thinking of a way to deflect.” They cup your cheek with one hand, their frown fading to an expression of sympathy. “Asriel,” they say, “we want to make you happy. You are clearly  _ not_, and whatever the reason, you don’t wish to tell us why. Which we understand—we’ve been there too. But if we can make you feel good in another way,” and they squeeze your hand, your fingers still intertwined, “we would like to.”

“We love you,” says Frisk, before you can even open your mouth to reply. “So, so much.” There’s quiet force to their words, an intensity to their stare. A determination to get through to you, to show you their feelings.

There are tears at your eyes again. Chara takes their hand back as you push yourself up to a seated position, so you can lean forward to give Frisk a brief kiss. “I—I love you, too,” you manage, your throat trying to block the words. “I—what I want…” You swallow back tears as best you can. “It makes me more happy than I can stand, that you love me, and I want to know I can—that I can make you happy, too.” 

“Asriel,” Frisk whispers, and you shake your head. 

“I don't—I know it sounds like I'm trying to brush off my own needs, but this is,” and it’s spilling out of you, but you don’t stop yourself, because you need them to understand, and if you don’t talk now then who knows when you’ll next be able to be this honest. “I know you love me, but I can’t understand  _ why,  _ I don’t deserve you, I need to—to prove that I can do something right. I want you to tell me how to be good, I want to make you come, to hear you scream, I have to  _ know _ I can make you feel good, even if it’s just this—”

Frisk cuts you off with a kiss, deep and searing, their knees pressing into you inner thighs as they lean forward. Your words are lost as you moan into their mouth. When they break the kiss, they don’t pull back, resting their forehead on yours. The tip of their little human nose presses into the slope of your own, and you can’t really look into their eyes without your vision going funny. They breathe in, sharing the same air as you, and as they breathe out, they whisper, “I understand.”

They tilt their head to give you another small kiss, before some unspoken coordination between them and Chara has them lean back as Chara reaches up to you, fingers on your cheek turning your head to face them. Their large eyes give you a hard, searching look, as they stroke your face. “It will not mean anything, if we tell you now all the many things we love about you, will it?” they ask. You give your head the tiniest shake, your fur pushing against their fingers. “You feel it is meaningless if you have to ask for it. Like we will only be saying so to make you feel better, and not in sincerity.” You nod, the faintest motion. 

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, “I know it’s stupid—”

“Asriel,” says Chara, “stop.” Your mouth snaps shut. 

“Feelings aren’t logical,” Frisk says. They’ve settled their hands on your knees as they sit back; their fingers fluff up your fur, then smooth it back down. “Can’t beat yourself up expecting them to be.” 

You’re about to apologize again, automatically; Chara drags their fingers to your lips, and you stop. “You have to let us make you feel good, as well,” they say. It’s an irrefutable command. “You know that neither of us can simply sit idle without reciprocating.” 

“Feedback loop of wanting to make each other happy,” Frisk jokes, though it’s more true than not.

“Yeah,” you agree, as Chara takes their hand from your mouth to stroke their fingers down your ear. “Okay. I can do that.” 

“And,” Chara says, “how much do you want to be told what to do?”

Your breath stops. You did include that in your clumsy confession, didn’t you. 

It’s not something you understand. You’re royalty, the Prince; aren’t you supposed to be the one in control? But when Chara gives you an order—even a simple, little thing, like wanting you to watch them and Frisk, or to not touch yourself until they’re ready for you—there’s something in you that yearns for that. The three of you have discussed it, acted on it, before; Chara and Frisk reassuring you there wasn’t anything wrong with you for wanting something like this, doing research on safe practices, and setting up a framework for when you feel this way. So you’ve agreed on steps you can take, if you want to go that far.

After considering for a moment, you decide that you do.

“I,” you start, and then close your eyes, gathering yourself. “Let me think of a safeword.”

“Understood,” says Chara, and Frisk gives your knees another squeeze. 

“Thank you,” says Frisk, and you blink your eyes open to stare at them, perplexed. “Didn’t have to ask you. Brought up a safeword on your own.” You can hear in their voice as well as see on their face, the reassurance and comfort they feel. After a moment of thinking on it, you understand; it’s easier to trust that you’ll be honest if you volunteer to tell them if you’re uncomfortable, than if they have to badger you into promising you’ll admit it. In fact, you get the feeling they wouldn’t agree to anything today, if they had to push too hard to get you to promise to tell them.

You’ll do better. You don’t want them to worry about hurting you. You’ll make sure they can trust you to be honest. 

Your mind always blanks when you try to think of a safeword that won’t either come up in conversation or kill the mood. Apropos of nothing, Chara’s garden comes to mind, and you recall a word that won’t be easily mistaken for anything else. “Zucchini,” you decide on, then clarify, “For the safeword.”

Frisk giggles a little. “Like the sound of it,” they explain when Chara raises an eyebrow at them. “Good syllables.” 

Chara nods. “Then if any of us need to stop, or even take a quick break, for  _ any reason,_” they stress, “that word will bring everything to a stop.”

You nod, and so does Frisk.

Chara strokes your ear again, then asks, “Are you ready?” 

Your breath is picking up again, and you whisper, “Yes.” 

“Then let’s begin,” they say. They smile at you, and it sends a shiver all the way down your spine. “Grab a pillow for your knees. You’re going to kneel next to the bed.” You comply quickly, Frisk backing out of the ‘V’ of your legs so you can move. Your can feel your heartbeat pounding through your body, your pulse hammering in your neck and chest and fingertips. Chara and Frisk exchange a silent glance as you drop the pillow to the floor and lower yourself to your knees, before Frisk scoots over to sit in front of you. Their legs are spread shamelessly, their cock already hard, jutting up and a little to the side, and they smile down at you, leaning back on their hands. 

Chara sits on the edge of the bed next to them, and Frisk puts one foot on your thigh, toes curling into your fur and pushing it up. “Show me how good you are with your hands,” they say. 

You try not to be disappointed that you’re kneeling between their legs, eye level with their cock, and they want a foot massage. That’s probably the point, you think, or at least part of it. And if that’s what they want and what they ask of you, then you’ll obey. You take them in hand and adjust them so their ankle is resting on your thigh. At this angle, you can push both thumbs into the sole of their foot, against their arch and pressing in hard under the ball of their foot, making their breath come out in a heavy rush. Your attentions linger on that spot for a while, until their breathing quiets to soft sighs as they acclimate to the sensations, and then with one hand you drag your blunt claws, feather light, along the bottom of their foot. They jerk back with a yelp, and then they laugh.

“So careful with your claws,” they praise you. “Know I can always trust you.” The reach down to pet you, and you bow your head under their attention. You work on their toes next, pressing just under them and in between, your touch hard and firm. They lean back again, and you shift one hand to cup their ankle, running the flat of your paw pads up the back of their calf and to the underside of their knee. You’re slower to bring your hand back down, massaging their muscles that tense and relax under your descending fingers, and you manage to earn a low, breathy moan out of them.

“I believe earlier Frisk requested we see some tongue,” Chara says. You raise your eyes to see them smiling down at you, leaning a little against Frisk, one of their hands rubbing idly at Frisk’s hip. “I second the motion.”

Frisk’s breath stutters as you drop your head and lift their foot, taking their big toe into your mouth without preamble and sucking at the little digit. You all just left the bath, and even if neither of your partners did much of any scrubbing at all, their skin here tastes clean and pretty much like the rest of them. Their blunt little nails are so different from your own claws, and you let their toe fall from your lips so you can place little kisses on the others. They squirm a little in your hold, one of your palms under their heel, your other hand with fingers wrapped around the top and thumb pressed firmly into the ball of their foot. They cry out when your tongue slips between their toes, in a way your fingers are a little too wide for, and their breath catches when you lower their foot so that you can press a kiss to their ankle. 

“You should,” they gasp, “keep—keep moving up.”

Your breath goes ragged, your dick jumping to attention. 

“Slowly,” Chara adds, and Frisk whines a little as you obey, lingering at the curve of muscle on the back of their calf, their dark leg hairs tickling your nose. When you get to the inside of their knee, you place a kiss on the skin, and then nip gently at it, reveling in how Frisk’s voice goes high for an instant. You soothe the spot with your tongue after, and the small noises they’re making almost tempt you to skip right over their thigh so you can get your mouth on their dick. But Chara told you to go slowly, and so you turn between Frisk’s legs and delay yourself by pressing soft kisses under their other knee, before you let your lips start to drift up their inner thigh.

Gradually, you lean in, your hands following your mouth up Frisk's thighs, and you can’t help but coyly nuzzle the soft skin at the juncture between their legs. You press tiny, wet kisses to their inner thigh, and they’re gasping, their voice catching on little cries. You notice them gripping the bedsheets tightly, and their legs tremble under your lips. Their reactions fueling your own arousal, you slowly drag your tongue up the underside of their dick, pulling a long, loud moan out of them as you do. 

“That’s it,” comes Chara’s voice, as you reach the head of Frisk’s cock, tracing the shape of it with your tongue and licking at the tip. “Just like that.” Frisk’s scent and taste permeate your senses, and you inhale deeply. The smell of their arousal is familiar and satisfying, and that it’s this strong, even immediately after a bath, is thanks to you. It’s because of you that they’re this hard, that their hips jerk as you breathe them in, that their voice starts and stops around abandoned words. You gently take the head of their cock into your mouth and suck, slow and savouring. There’s nothing else really like it, so you don’t have a way to describe or compare it to anything; even the rest of their skin tastes a little different than here. The salty tang of precome is on your tongue, and you lean in, taking more of them into your mouth. They cry out, hoarse, as your lips slide slowly down their cock. 

Chara rests a hand on your shoulder, not directing you, simply to touch. “Good. That’s very good,” they murmur, and even though you can’t see them from this angle, you know the half-lidded, entranced expression they must be wearing. You whine around Frisk’s cock, and their hips buck up. Your eyes close as you suck on them, careful of your teeth and lowering your head the rest of the way, until your nose is buried in the nest of curly hair at the base of their dick. 

The shape of your face gives you an advantage over your partners here; it’s easy for you to take Frisk in your mouth in their entirety. The head of their cock barely touches the back of your throat. On the other hand, it is a little harder for you to seal your lips around them to get good suction, but you’ve had a lot of practice. One of their hands comes to wrap their fingers around one of your horns—they don’t pull or push you, but it seems to ground them, and though you don’t exactly have nerve endings up there, it’s an enjoyable pressure. 

“You’re doing so good,” Chara tells you, breathless, and you hear confirmation in Frisk’s moans. Pulsing arousal spreads through you, your own cock hard to the point of aching between your legs. Your lips slide wetly along their skin as you pull back so that you can work your tongue around the head of their cock, and then you lower your head again, once more taking them in completely. “Keep going,” Chara encourages, and you let yourself whimper. Frisk rolls their hips at the vibrations the noise sends through them, crying out, and you suck harder, bobbing your head in quick, short motions, all but fucking your mouth on Frisk's dick. Your hands on Frisk’s thighs are there only to stabilize you; when they buck their hips and push deeper into your mouth, you happily let them. 

“Asriel,” they cry, drawing your name out, thrusting up, and you moan around them, desperate. You press your tongue up against them, feeling the wet drag against their sensitive skin as you move, and they yell your name again, their hips moving with you. They come into your mouth with a shout, and you swallow down everything they give you, letting them thrust into your mouth with slowing movements as they work through their orgasm. 

They’re nearly still by the time you raise your head, opening your eyes and letting their softening cock fall from your lips. Their hand has dropped from your horn to weakly stroke the fur at the back of your neck, and you look up to enjoy the blissful expression on their face, their mouth parted as they pant, their eyes unfocused and half-lidded. You lick your lips, the taste of them still on your tongue. 

You remove one hand from their thighs, bringing it down to wrap your fingers around yourself, but before you can get even a single stroke in, Chara’s command of, “Stop,” freezes you in place. “Hand on the bed,” they tell you next, and you reluctantly let go, raising your hand back up to grip the bedsheets instead. You’re rewarded, though; they affectionately stroke your ear, and when they say, “Good boy,” your dick throbs with want.

Fris’s hand leaves your neck as they flop back on the bed, apparently no longer up to even the effort of sitting. You watch their chest rise and fall with quick and heavy breaths, and they can only get a couple words out at a time. “That was,” and when they pause to inhale, the sound is even louder than their voice, “really great.” 

You squirm in place, your fingers clenching and unclenching in the sheets. “Still okay?” Chara asks you, perhaps seeing your movements, and you nod.

“Please,” you start, but then aren’t sure how to continue, or what you’re trying to ask for. They regard you for a moment, their thumb moving back and forth at the base of your ear, and you don’t try to hold anything back as you lean into their touch and meet their gaze, whatever emotions are playing across your face laid bare. 

They smile, then, and affection and want surge equally in you, blazing hot in your belly. “Think your tongue is up for more action?” they ask.

“ _Yes,_ ” you gasp, your dick twitching. 

“Good,” they say. Frisk props themself up on their elbows, recovered enough to watch as Chara directs you to move over and bring your pillow with you. The arrangement is much the same as for Frisk, you kneeling between their spread legs, and Chara’s fingers fluff up the fringe on your forehead as you settle in place. “Keep your hands on my legs or on the bed,” they remind you. You obey, dragging your claws lightly down the soft skin of their inner thigh, and they quiver under your touch. 

Once more, you can’t help but work your way slowly to your goal, placing little kisses along Chara’s thighs as you lean forward. The closer you get, the more they lean back to improve the angle, and when you arrive at the juncture between their legs, they’re lying flat on the bed and letting out tiny cries each time your lips connect with their skin. They rest their hands on your head, their fingers buried in your fur, splayed around your ears and horns. You note, out of the corner of your eye, Frisk rolling onto their side to lie next to Chara, propping their head up in one hand and watching you, lazy satisfaction on their face. 

Chara’s visibly wet, and you exhale purposefully over them to see them tremble as your breath ghosts over them, before lowering your mouth. You haven’t received permission to use your hands, but you always have to be extra careful of your claws here anyway, only letting the pads of your fingers touch, and so it’s honestly easier to navigate with your tongue alone. You press forward, your nose flush with Chara’s dark, wiry curls, and your tongue slips between their folds. They’re hot in your mouth, flesh soft and pliant. They yell out, hips lifting, and you lick up and find their clit, earning another loud cry. 

You press your tongue flat against them in long, slow strokes, their taste and scent your entire world. Similar to Frisk’s, and yet wholly unique. The short fur on your chin and lips, already damp from sucking Frisk off, is quickly soaked through with Chara’s fluids. 

“Hold on,” Chara says, abruptly, and you stop, worried you’ve nicked them with your teeth or messed up some other way. You lift your head, nervous, but all they do is raise their legs to hook them over your shoulders, and then pull you in with their heels. “Okay,” they say, pleased. “You can start again.”

You drop your head back down, the new angle easier, and you part their folds with your tongue once more, immediately licking and sucking at their clit. You can see that Frisk has started to play with Chara’s breasts, but they’re watching you as you eat Chara out, and you lower your eyes, feeling your nose heat up in embarrassment.

“You’re beautiful,” Frisk says, their low voice startling you. Likely Chara can feel your shoulders flinch under their legs, and you whimper into them, shutting your eyes and pushing your tongue deeper. They moan in response, a full and helpless sound. “Wish I could show you how you look right now,” Frisk continues. Their words are rough around the edges, and you let out another whine, trying to focus on teasing Chara’s clit with your tongue. “You’re both incredible.”

You feel Chara’s fingers curl, dragging through your fur. “Go easy on him,” they say, somehow finding their voice between moans. You’ve learned not to take it personally that they can still talk in the heat of the moment, something you and Frisk find impossible, but it still drives you to flick your tongue faster. Their voice and hips both rise in response, and you redouble your efforts.

“Can’t help it,” says Frisk, but mercifully, they don’t continue in that vein. “You’re doing such a good job,” they tell you, and you moan, needy and wanting, into Chara. Your tongue  _ is _ getting tired now, and there’s an ache in your jaw, but you can hear the telltale pitch in Chara’s voice and the increased frequency of their cries, and you push yourself to keep going, Frisk’s encouragement fueling you. You can do this for them. 

When they come, they shout your name, their legs wrapped tight around you. You continue lapping at them, slow and gentle as they moan softly, until they push your head back. “That’s good,” they pant, playing absently with your bangs. You lean into their touch, your eyelids drooping. Their legs slip from your shoulders, splayed around you, as they catch their breath. “That was very good.”

You rest your cheek on their thigh, your own breaths shallow and fast through your open mouth. You can’t concentrate for want, only capable of waiting for another order. Your toes curl and uncurl, and a shiver runs down your spine.

“Come here,” Frisk says. Their voice is not as hard as Chara’s, more coaxing than commanding, but you couldn’t ignore them if you tried. Your legs wobble under you as you rise from your kneeling position, and you gingerly sit on the bed next to them. They cup your face in their hands, pulling you into a slow kiss, licking at your lips where you know you still taste of Chara. You’re shaking under their touch, you realize, wound tight with desire, white-hot and burning. You’ve received no instruction for where to put your hands, and they form fists in the bedsheets, as though you could ground yourself so easily.

“Now, then,” says Chara, their voice mostly recovered, “what should we do with you?” They drape themself on your back, and the heat of their skin goes right through you. Frisk’s lips leave yours, and the noise you make is shameful, desperate. “You’ve been very obedient,” Chara continues, running their hands along your arms, winding their fingers through yours when they reach your hands, loosening your tight grip on the bedding. You feel their head laid against your back, their hot breath through your fur when they speak. “You’ve done so well.”

It’s such a stupid, simple thing, but their praise sinks into you, warm and soothing. You did a good job. You did what they asked, and you made them feel good. Pride bubbles up in you even as you duck your head.

Frisk looks at Chara over your shoulder, and some silent message is sent or received—you still can’t read Frisk’s face quite so well as Chara can, possibly because you and Frisk never shared a body. They crawl over to the edge of the bed to grab your pillow from the floor, then return it to the pile at the head of the bed, fluffing up all the others. 

“This way,” Chara says, easing you to recline back on the pillow pile, directing your movements when you pause, unable to proceed without their instruction. In this position, your horns are well and clear from both the wall and the mattress, and you can still see your partners without having to bend your neck uncomfortably. Frisk scoots down the bed, lying on their belly next to you, feet kicked up so they don’t hang off the edge of the mattress. Their shoulders are about level with your hips, and they’re propped up on their elbows, grinning up at you. Their arm brushes against your leg, and you tremble from even that slight touch. 

Chara traces their fingers down the contour of your jaw, giving you a brief kiss, nipping lightly at your bottom lip. “Hold out for as long as you can,” they whisper. It's an order, but without the hard tone of command from earlier. Almost a request. You don’t know if you can follow it; you’re ready to burst at the slightest touch. 

“I will,” you promise, your rasping voice giving out almost before you’ve completed the mere two syllables. 

They kiss you again, before moving down the bed to the same level as Frisk, lying at your other side. They settle themself down with one elbow between your legs, their breasts pressed against the fur of your thigh, their idle hand on the sheets so, so close to your dick. Frisk mirrors them, draping themself over your other leg, pushing your fur the wrong way under their chest as they rest their weight on you. Once again your hands fist in the bedding, clenched so tight that even your blunt claws might punch through the fabric. 

“You look so good,” Frisk says, and even with their eyes half closed you can still see their gaze travel up your body. You turn your head away, and one of their hands lightly ruffles the fur of your inner thigh, demanding you return your attention. “Asriel,” they say, insistent. You look back to them, already knowing what you’ll see but still taken aback by the gentle and unabashed love clear on their face. “Don’t have to agree,” they tell you, punctuating the statement with a kiss on your thigh as they inch up. “But you gotta know,” another kiss, and you can see one little white fur stuck to their cheek, though they don’t appear to notice, “I mean it.” Their fingers curl in your fur, nails scratching against your skin, and you whine as their next kiss is right at the juncture of your hip and leg, their hair brushing against your cock. “Every time I say it.” 

Their stare is too much; you close your eyes tight, feeling tears beading at the corners, and tilt your head back into the pillows. Frisk’s fingers rub at your thigh, and you feel their breath on your dick. 

“Asriel.” Chara’s voice calls you back. “Open your eyes. I want you to watch.”

If they had stopped at telling you to open your eyes, you might have resisted. You might have tested them, made them reissue the command. You might have pushed them to enforce their control. 

But then they tell you what they  _ want_, and your eyes flutter open, met once more with the sight of both your partners laid over your legs. The way they look at you is drastically different—Frisk’s eyes more than half closed, their mouth pulled up only slightly at the corners, smile crooked and gentle; Chara’s even grin almost too big for their face, overflowing with more emotion than their features can contain—but the affection and desire evident in their expressions is identical. As soon as they see you’re watching, Frisk brushes their hair behind their ear, wraps their fingers around the base of your cock to hold you steady, and leans in, their lips sliding over the tip and taking you in without ceremony. Your voice tears out of you in a groan, and you can’t help but rock your hips up, seeking more. They hold you steady, their other hand flat on your hip and helping you restrain yourself. Their cheeks hollow out as they suck, only taking the head into their mouth, tonguing playfully at the tip, and you cry out again, hoarse.

Your eyes somehow still open, you’re able to see Chara mirror Frisk’s earlier movement, hooking their hair behind their tiny human ear, and they angle their head to the side before they press a light kiss to the underside of your cock. Your breath stops. Their tongue follows, wet and hot and overwhelming, drawing a thick line down to the base, and the noise you make next might best be described as somewhere between a moan and a wail. 

Chara licks and sucks at you, tonguing at the place where Frisk’s fingers are wrapped around you, and your voice only goes quiet now for you to inhale desperate breaths, if that. You see Chara’s shoulder move, and then their hand cups your balls. Your hips jack up, only Frisk’s hand on your hip and the weight of your partners on your legs keeping you from thrusting rudely into their mouth. 

You can hardly keep from tossing your head back and closing your eyes. When Frisk finally, mercifully descends another inch, their soft lips dragging down, your mouth starts trying to beg, even though words are clearly beyond you now. You manage halfway through a ‘please,’ before the vowels are overtaken in a moan. 

With noisy, wet kisses, Chara raises their head until their lips meet Frisk’s around your cock. They lick at the corner of Frisk’s mouth, tongue flicking over your skin, and you whine as Frisk pulls up. The head of your cock slips out of their mouth, precome and saliva shining on their lips and you both, and Chara darts in quickly, kissing Frisk right over your dick. You’re shaking so badly that your cock bobs under them, hard and wet and wanting, and you moan again as you see Chara’s tongue slip into Frisk’s mouth. You almost can’t hear Frisk’s pleased hum over your own noises. Their hand at the base of your cock gives you a few light, shallow strokes, as if to assure you that you haven’t been forgotten, even as Chara’s teeth lightly close on Frisk’s bottom lip. 

They break apart, exchanging a quick, wordless look, and then as one, drop their heads. Their lips descend on your dick, the heat of their mouths that much more intense for the brief absence, and it’s sloppy and wet and so, so good. With perfect synchronization, they both suck at the head, then lick matching stripes down either side, interrupted as they take turns to pause and give a spot a little extra attention. You whimper, your hips attempting again to buck up, and you can  _ feel _ Chara smile against you.

This time, even though your mouth fumbles the start of the word, you manage to fully push out a choked, “P-Please!” The opposite of what you want happens, as Chara’s mouth leaves you, even while Frisk presses their tongue right at the indent just under the head, pushing another cry out of you. 

“You’re doing so well,” Chara praises you, fondling your balls with one hand and caressing your hip with the other. A high pitched whine builds in your throat, and Frisk’s lips once more wrap around your cock. This time, they drop their head without any teasing or preamble; you feel yourself hit the back of their throat before they swallow around you, and then they keep going, until their nose is nestled in the soft, sparse fur just above the base. Your muscles go tight as you hold yourself still, wanting to thrust into the perfect heat of their mouth surrounding you. You're so close, you're  _ so close _ but Chara told you to hold out as long as you could, and so you cling to the sheets and whimper. Their voice washes over you, “You are so very good. You’ve pushed yourself so hard for us, haven’t you?”

Wetness at your eyes starts to overflow—not yet enough to send tears falling, but enough that the fur surrounding your eyes is damp, and your lashes stick together when you blink. “Chara,” you beg, breathless. Your mouth shapes their name and Frisk’s again, a plea that never leaves your throat, overthrown by a whimper that stutters out in bits and pieces as Frisk lifts their head to take a breath, then sinks back down around you.

“It’s okay, Ree,” Chara tells you. “You don’t have to hold back any longer.”

They drop their head the few inches it takes for their mouth to reach the base of your cock, angling themself to fit perfectly between you and Frisk, and they suck at the sensitive space just above your balls. At very the moment Chara’s lips connect, Frisk hums happily around your dick, the vibrations traveling up and through you, echoing around the mountain of pleasure that’s built up inside you, and you finally let your eyes fall shut and throw your head back and yell. Your hips rock up as you come, and Frisk swallows you down. 

They pull back as your orgasm ebbs, sucking gently, tongue working around your softening dick as they retreat, and they take you right up to the threshold of too much, before they let you drop free of their mouth. Chara’s head lifts as well, their hair brushing against you with the motion. Your moans quiet down to loud, gasping pants, your chest heaving, and your fingers release their death grip in the sheets, at first too stiff to uncurl. The tension in your legs eases, and you sag bonelessly into the pillows and bedding beneath you. 

Chara presses a kiss above your hip bone in the spot framed between their thumb and forefinger, before you feel them rise. The shift in the mattress lets you know they’re crawling up the bed to you, and you crack your eyes open. 

They drop to lie halfway across you, their hands coming up to frame your face as they pepper little kisses on your nose, your cheeks, your still-gasping mouth. “You are wonderful,” they say, each word punctuated with a kiss. 

“Chara,” you try to say, but your breath forms voiceless around their name, barely a whisper. They nuzzle your jaw, your neck, and then rest their head where your neck and shoulder meet, breathing out, satisfied and full. Their hands drop from your face, one arm still thrown across your chest, as they wiggle and shift on top of you to settle comfortably.

“I love you,” they whisper into your fur, a reminder, a reassurance, a pledge. Your soul flares white-hot inside you. 

Frisk climbs up the bed on your other side, flopping heavily down on you once they’re level with you and Chara, one of their legs hooked over yours. They snuggle into you, making pleased little hums as they fit themself against you. Chara has to move their hand out of the way of Frisk’s face; they caress Frisk’s cheek before their fingers drop to curl in the crest of fur on your chest. 

“Okay?” Frisk asks, dark eyes looking up at you under their bangs. “Get you some water in a sec. Catch my breath.”

Chara preempts your protest that you can get it for yourself, that Frisk doesn’t need to worry. “You can relax,” they say. “We’re taking care of you.”

You want to object, but in the haze of afterglow overtaking you, it’s hard to find a reason  _ not _ to relax and sink into a doze. You’re buried under the warmth and weight of both your partners, settled into a comfortable nest of pillows, the after-effects of their affection still pulsing pleasantly through your body. Your eyelids start to droop, and you can’t bring yourself to fight to keep them open.

“Before we lose you, though, how do you feel?” Chara asks.

You answer without thinking about it, honesty falling off your sleepy tongue. “Better.” 

You catch sight of Frisk and Chara exchanging a look, and if you weren’t so relaxed, you’d worry when you realize your mistake in saying simply, ‘better,’ and not lying with something more unambiguous and definite, like ‘good.’ But lying would be a worse mistake—and you’re so sleepy, it’s hard to find the energy to beat yourself up for it. 

“I’m glad, then,” says Chara, and it seems that ‘better’ is good enough, even if not perfect. “We’ll let you sleep, now.”

“Sweet dreams,” says Frisk, as they push themself up, presumably to get water. You’re too far gone to even whine at the loss of heat when they rise. 

  
  
  


Apparently you fall asleep before they get back. The next time you open your eyes, the light coming in through the curtains has changed. Chara is still tucked at your side, but now resting on their back, using your arm as a pillow beneath their head as they read. However long you’ve been out, they haven’t bothered with putting any clothes back on, the book in their hands supported on the smooth shelf of their bare stomach. The soothing sound of a page turning calls you back to wakefulness, and you narrow your eyes, focusing on the portion of the book you can make out over Chara’s head. There are only a few they still keep physical copies of instead of downloading, all well-worn favourites, and so you’re not surprised, after squinting, to recognize the words to  _ Kitchen. _

You start to open your mouth to speak, and your tongue and throat are dry and aching. Perhaps your shifting catches their attention, because Chara looks up from their reading, and then sits up when they notice you awake. Their book is immediately set aside, and they reach over to grab a glass of water set on the nightstand. 

“Can you sit up a little?” they ask you. You want to roll your eyes; of course you can, what a simple thing—but your arms shake under you when you push yourself up. You do manage to bring yourself somewhat more vertical, and you try not to be too embarrassed when Chara leaves their hands on the glass even after you’ve taken it. With loud gulps, you down it all in one go. Chara sets the empty glass back on the table, and you wipe your mouth with the back of your hand. You’re still a little thirsty, but this is much better.

“Frisk is making dinner,” they tell you. The knowledge of your other partner’s location soothes a tension you hadn’t even realized you were holding in the muscles of your shoulders. “Alfredo tonight, I believe.” 

“What time is it?” you ask. Even after chugging that water, your voice is a little more suited to a Froggit than a boss monster, croaking out your words; you swallow, wetting your tongue.

“About five,” they answer. “A bit early for dinner, but we all mostly skipped lunch. Well—”

“If you make a joke about how we all got to eat I'm kicking you off the bed.”

They laugh, a bright and brilliant sound that sends warn thrills down your belly, to know you got such a reaction from them. Part of you wants to be annoyed at how much of the day you’ve lost to your nap, but considering how poorly you slept last night, and how much you enjoyed Frisk and Chara wearing you out, you can’t really summon up any real ire. Besides, it’s not as though you had any desires for the day beyond spending time with your partners, and you’ve certainly accomplished that. Chara’s laughter tapers off, and they scoot in closer to you, then, setting their hands lightly on your thigh. “Asriel,” they say, still fond, but the teasing lilt gone. “How are you doing?”

You exhale slowly. “Better,” you say, your voice mostly recovered as you repeat your earlier answer. “A lot better.” You swallow at the recent memories, meeting Chara's gaze. “You’re amazing.” 

“Did we go too far at any point?” they ask, concern in their voice and in their wide eyes as they look up at you, searching your face. 

You shake your head. “Not at all.” You hesitate, then, but—they’re not going to think less of you. It’s thanks to Frisk and Chara doing the research at all that the three of you know how to address this want of yours. They’re the ones who gave you the safety and space to try it. And you know that if they don’t want to do something you suggest, they’ll say so—it’s happened before, after all. “Honestly,” you admit, “you could probably boss me around even more than you do.”

They make a considering noise. “Something to think about for next time, then. Frisk and I wanted to focus on praising you today, but perhaps if you got to do more things to be praised for…”

You nod, maybe a little too eagerly, and so you try to school your voice into something calmer. “It’s—nice. To feel useful.”

They reach up, tracing your parted lips with their thumb, and even though you only just woke up from a post-coital nap, the touch sends sparks through you. “I see.” Their tone is some combination of knowing and satisfied—not at all smug, however. Simply pleased, as they regard you. They take their hand away, then, and you only follow a little bit before catching yourself. Instead of teasing you, however, they say, “You are so much more than simply useful, you know. You do so much for us. Always so supportive and loving—you’re wonderful.”

A flush of heat tumbles through you, from the tips of your horns down your spine and to your toes. Your mouth is stuck open, caught between the urge to reply and the complete lack of words to adequately respond to such kindness. You’re saved from having to, though, when Chara continues. “Though truthfully, when I asked if we went too far, I was thinking of when we tell you how beautiful you are. I know that’s been something we’ve discussed in the past, but today seemed different.”

You stiffen, abruptly very aware of the way your stomach forms rolls in your seated position. You’re not surprised that they noticed your reactions, but maybe you’d been hoping they wouldn’t bring it up. They wait patiently for your response, and so you try to give it actual thought, much as your mind wants to push the unpleasant topic away. 

“I don’t want you and Frisk to feel like you can’t—like you can’t say what you feel because you’re worried about how I might react,” you say. “It’s… it makes me uncomfortable, because I don’t believe it, but I know you’re not lying about how you feel. And it’s kinda like when I want you to boss me around, I almost… want you to  _ make _ me have to listen to you.”

They nod. “I think I understand. But that might not be a good idea to pursue without first knowing why.” They pause, then, giving you the opportunity to change the subject or deflect. When you’re silent for whatever length of time they determine to be long enough, they ask, “Do you want to talk about it?” 

You don’t—you never do, and maybe that’s part of the problem. Yet at the same time, the words coil thick as rolling vines in your throat. “I just… shouldn’t I be happy with this?” You wave a hand down your front—still nude, you can see every unappealing inch of yourself. “I should be happy I have anything at all. And if I don’t like my—my stomach or something, if I’m not working to change it then I should just shut up and deal with it, if I really didn’t like it I should  _ do _ something, but when I have a day off I just sit around eating human food and playing video games—”

Chara’s arms wrap around your waist, and their chest is flush against yours, their head tucked under your chin. Your voice dries up, and you return their embrace, holding them tight and blinking wetly. 

“You cannot make yourself feel a certain way simply by wanting to,” they say forcefully into your fur. “To love something, to hate something—these are not things you can choose. You and Frisk have told  _ me _ that often enough.” You stop pretending not to cry, your eyes shutting tight and squeezing out tears to fall down your cheeks. You’re pretty sure that they land on Chara’s head and shoulders when they drip off your face, but Chara doesn’t comment on it. “All you can choose is what to do about it—and sometimes, even that is impossible on your own,” they say. “If you want to do something to change, Frisk and I will help you figure out how. If you want to try to like the way you look already, Frisk and I will help show you how beautiful you are, no matter what anyone says or expects from you.”

You should have talked to them about this sooner, instead of making them drag it out of you. Of course Chara, who regularly alters their appearance to defy some idiotic human cultural gender expectation, wouldn’t think that learning to like the way you look is the only option. Frisk, too—they’ve already undergone treatments to permanently remove hair from their face. Of course they’d understand being dissatisfied with the hand you’ve been dealt, and wanting to alter it. You can’t even argue that your situation is so different from theirs that you should be judged under different rules—Chara’s body, too, was returned to them after death. They, too, have no way of knowing if the person they’ve grown into is the same as who they’d have been if your lives hadn’t been interrupted.

(You’ll still have to silence that voice that tells you that you  _ deserve _ a body which makes you unhappy, if you want to take steps to either love yourself or alter your appearance.)

Well. You don’t have to decide anything right now. You can talk about it with both of your partners, and probably your therapist, and figure out how you feel. Already, having allowed some of your thoughts to escape, you feel lighter, able to actually approach your feelings instead of being weighted down by them. Of course, things won’t be as easy as all that, but it’s a start.

You hear the door to the bedroom thump against the wall, Frisk purposefully alerting you to their arrival since your eyes are still closed. The shift of fabric sounds as they approach the bed, and their voice is low and warm when they greet you with a simple, “Hi.” You sniff thickly in response, blinking open your eyes. They smile warmly down at you, before crawling on the bed and kneeling next to you and Chara, throwing their arms around you both. Their hands can’t meet around the two of you, but they squeeze you hard enough that you think maybe they’re making the attempt. 

“Dinner’s done,” they murmur into the group hug. You notice, belatedly, that they are wearing an apron and nothing else. Over their messy hair, you can see the mountains of their shoulder blades, the curve of their spine, the pink straps of the apron tied in a bow just above the curve of their ass. Your nose heats up.

Frisk waits a long moment before letting go of the two of you, and as Chara rises, Frisk holds you in place to kiss your wet cheeks and run their thumbs over the damp trails left on your face. You try not to think about how their fingers trace the paths of black fur. Once they’ve wiped away your tears to their satisfaction, they give you a lingering kiss on the lips, and then scoot off the bed. 

The sway of the dangling apron straps knotted at the small of their back captures your attention, and you stand in place next to the bed, staring, until Frisk disappears through the door. Chara bumps your hip with theirs, smiling knowingly up at you, and your nose must be flushed bright cherry red by now. You quickly move to grab a pair of boxers and a big t-shirt, as Chara teases, “Dinner before dessert.”

You groan, and Chara giggles, pulling on one of your shirts as well. It hangs loose and low on them, the bottom hem hitting their thighs, the neck wide enough that pale shoulder peeks out on one side. You can’t help but notice that they don’t bother grabbing any underwear.

Dinner is, as Frisk’s cooking always is, delicious, and you discover how sorely needed as well. Though you haven’t really eaten anything of substance since waffles for breakfast, so maybe you shouldn’t be surprised at how hungry you are. 

You also shouldn’t be surprised when Frisk’s toes start creeping up your leg and inner thigh, but you startle and drop your fork, splattering alfredo sauce on all three of you. Frisk starts giggling, covering their mouth with both hands to try to contain themself, as Chara looks down at the white droplets on their front and yours. You’re pretty sure you felt some of it land on your face, too.

“Today’s not been a good day for Frisk feeding you, has it?” they ask, smirking even as they grab a napkin to clean themself off.

“Wait,” Frisk says, muffled into their hands as they wrestle their giggles under control. “Wait. I’ll fix this.”

You have a feeling you really ought to simply follow Chara’s lead and grab a napkin to dab the alfredo off yourself, before Frisk does whatever it is they're thinking. For some reason, you don’t do anything but watch as Frisk stands and comes around the table to you, bending down to get a closer look at you. They make a considering hum, smile mischievous, before they lean in and drag the flat of their tongue across your face.

You yelp and jerk backward, and Chara outright cackles. Frisk straightens, makes a face, and then sticks their tongue out to try to get the white and black furs out of their mouth. 

“Didn't quite go the way you planned, hm?” Chara asks, leaning forward with their head propped on their steepled hands. Their grin only widens as you rub Frisk's spit off your cheek, while Frisk continues to make awkward (and, okay, kind of hilarious) faces in the process of getting your fur off their tongue. “Honestly, I have to wonder what you expected.”

Frisk's gaze slides over to land on Chara, who straightens in their seat, wary. “You keep that tongue away from me,” they warn.

“Not what you said last night,” grins Frisk, and Chara sputters around restrained laughter. Your own comes out in a noisy guffaw, and you clap a hand over your mouth, but then Frisk winks at you and you don't feel quite so embarrassed about the sound. Still, instead of giving Chara the same treatment as your face, they return to their own seat and half-eaten meal. You can see Chara visibly relax once Frisk is settled back in their chair, and you chuckle quietly once more, as the three of you resume your meal.

After dinner, you split dish duty with Chara, while Frisk puts leftovers in tupperware into the fridge. Even though it’s officially evening, the late summer sun still shines in through the curtains, and once you’ve all finished cleaning up, you ask your partners, “Did you guys want to do anything tonight?”

You’re expecting something low-key and simple; maybe cuddles on the couch while Chara knits and you all watch something on Netflix. Or you could sit out back while the sun sets, enjoying the cooling-but-still-warm air, and play something like Rummy or Poker, even though Frisk always complains that you can’t have a good game of Poker with only three people and without betting real money.

Instead, Frisk makes finger-guns at you and winks. “You,” they say, and it takes you several seconds of waiting to see if they continue their sentence before you realize that was their answer. 

Your jaw drops and your face heats up, and Chara giggles, leaning against your side. You’re not sure why your next reaction is to say, “Didn’t you already?” You could kick yourself.

Fortunately for you, Frisk isn't put off by your automatic and unthinking protest, and they simply waggle their eyebrows. “No rule we can’t again,” they say.

“As long as you’re still up for it,” Chara says, one hand making its way across your lower back to settle on your opposite hip. You lift your arm so they can press against you, dropping it over their shoulder once they’ve nestled close. “Besides, now that we’re not caught up in the heat of the moment, I wanted to ask if there was anything else you wanted to try.”

This time, you are thinking when you object. “I _ just  _ got to pick what we did.” 

“Yes, and I know that you were honest when you told us what you wanted,” Chara says, soothing your worries. You don't want them to think that you lied, that they have to try again to get things right for you, that you didn't enjoy yourself fully, or that your afternoon wasn't amazing. You don't want them to keep spending time trying to cheer you up when already they've done so much to make you feel good—not just good, but overwhelmingly fortunate and loved. They've spent so much time spoiling you today—don't they have anything better to do? “But I saw you hesitate,” says Chara, “and you made that same guilty face you're making now. Don't tell me that you weren't thinking of something else, too.”

You try immediately to school your face into a blank expression, but that's Frisk's forte, and you know from Chara's indulgent smile that you're failing to prevent your emotions from playing across your face. You've always been easy to read, like your father—it's yet one more hurdle to deal with when working with Frisk in the mess of human and monster politics.

“Want you to tell us,” Frisk says, taking the two steps needed to bring them to you, taking your free hand in theirs. “Not me making you two try my new ideas, for once. I’m excited.” Their fingers are warm on your paw pads, and their low voice and lazy smile send heat melting through you. 

“Besides,” says Chara, tilting their head up to smirk at you, “look at them.” Their hand that’s not around your waist makes a broad gesture at Frisk, who tilts their head coyly, looking up at you under eyes half-lidded with a lopsided smirk. They cock their hip, bare skin peeking out from under the edge of the apron, and you swallow, throat tight. “See what they’re wearing?” Chara asks. Dumbly, you nod. “They put on that stupid thing just for you. They’ve been waiting to hear what you want.” Their voice drops, lower and quieter, and you gulp. “Whatever you’ve been dreaming of. They’re so ready for you.” 

Chara lifts up on the tips of their toes, their lips at your ear. “I’m ready for you, too.”

Your mouth drops open, a whine escaping your throat. Frisk raises your hand up, holding it against their cheek, then guiding you to drag your fingers until your claws rest gently on their lower lip. Your breath comes in heavy gasps as their tongue slips out to press in between claw and paw pad. They take one finger into their mouth, eyes fluttering shut, as Chara’s lips trace gently at the edge of your ear, their breath hot against the sensitive skin. You’re already coming undone again, ready to follow their leads, and there’s not a small part of you that hopes for them to simply have their way with you again, rather than have you confess your fantasies. 

“Will you not tell us what you want?” implores Chara.

You bite your lip. You can imagine it so clearly—your desire to be pressed between them, to link them together, to be moved by them and filled even as you move inside them—but to find words is impossible. Each phrase you think of to describe what you want sounds vulgar and crude. “It’s not,” you manage, before Frisk’s tongue drags along the pad of your finger, and your words stumble into each other and fall apart. You can’t explain your reluctance, not while your breath starts and stops at Chara and Frisk’s mercy. You force yourself to focus long enough to grab the simplest sentence you can and throw it past your lips, gasping, “I can’t say it.”

“Perhaps we can persuade you,” says Chara, their voice soft in consideration of how close they are to your ear. Then, spoken over your shoulder, “Frisk, get his legs.”

Wait. What.

Frisk brings one hand up in an OK sign, your finger sliding from their lips. In a perfectly coordinated effort, they drop down at the same time as Chara slips out from under your arm, and Frisk’s hands hook around the backs of your knees and tug. You stumble back with an undignified squawk, and Chara’s hands are waiting for you, catching you under the armpits. Frisk lifts at the exact moment Chara begins to support your weight, letting out a little grunt, and before you know it your feet are no longer under you. You shout, and you’re so close to the floor that your tail brushes against it, but you don’t fall, swinging unsteady in your partners’ hold. 

“Frisk!” you yelp, and they smile down at you, benevolent and unworried. You can’t quite tilt your head back to look at Chara—you can feel your horns press against them when you try, and you quickly tuck your chin back down to your chest, suddenly terrified of what could have happened if your head had been at the wrong angle when they caught you. “Chara!” There might be a note of real panic in your voice, spurred by your imagining of what could have gone wrong.

“We’ve got you,” Frisk says, even as they start to walk backward down the hall. Chara’s steps are in perfect synchronization with Frisk’s, and so there’s no awkward push-and-pull as they try to figure out how to carry you to the bedroom, only smooth motion and steady swaying back and forth. You’re reminded of carrying furniture into the house with Frisk when you’d moved in, and nearly dropping a bookshelf on their feet because you’d started walking before they were ready. There’s none of that here, Frisk and Chara’s silent communication ensuring you the smoothest ride possible.

“You always seem to have such fun,” says Chara, slightly out of breath, “carrying us around. We wanted to turn the tables.”

You laugh despite yourself. You’re not sure you could ever be completely relaxed, being carried in such a way, but some of the tension in you eases. Frisk pauses to hip-check the bedroom door fully open, and then they back up until they and Chara have got you parallel to the bed. There’s another quiet moment as you see Frisk raise one eyebrow at Chara. Presumably Chara makes some kind of face back, and Frisk shrugs, then looks down to you.

“Well,” says Chara, and you hear them stop for breath. “I wanted to toss you onto the bed, but it seems that might not be the best of ideas.” 

“Oh, good,” you say flatly. Considering that you’re hanging much closer to the floor than to the top of the mattress, you’re grateful they’re reconsidering their original plan. 

Frisk starts to loosen their hold on one of your legs. Getting the idea, you help them, lowering first one foot to the ground and then the other as Frisk releases them. Chara tries to ease you smoothly into a seated position, but whether because of your horns getting in their way, or their own upper body strength not meeting their expectations, you wind up slipping from their grip and landing on your rear a little harder than anticipated. Chara curses. “Sorry,” they hiss, and you can hear their irritation with themself. 

Sitting on the floor between your two partners, you shake your head and chuckle. “Don’t worry,” you tell them, reaching up to set a hand on their knee. “Just give me some warning next time. That could have gone very poorly.” 

They look down quizzically at you, and you tap at one of your horns. Their eyebrows shoot straight up as they realize what you mean. 

“Whoops,” says Frisk, a deadpan understatement to the shock on Chara’s face. 

“It’s okay!” you rush to say, before Chara can beat themself up for not thinking of every possibility. “It was fine, and next time you want to haul me around, you’ll know.”

They’re still frowning, and you twist a little to lean your cheek against their leg. You can feel the minute shiver that runs through them as your fur brushes against their skin and the sparse hairs on their leg. You drag your claws lightly down the curve of their calf, and they can’t fully hold back a little noise. 

“Dammit, Ree,” they grumble, their own fingers playing with the fringe on your forehead. “You could at least act a little annoyed with my lack of foresight.”

In response, you press a kiss to the inside of their knee, and they gasp. Your hand slides up the back of their leg, and when your fingers hit the hem of your shirt they’re wearing, you continue up, slipping your hand under the fabric and dragging the pads of your fingers along their bare skin. 

“Don’t think you can distract me so easily,” they caution, even as they shift their weight in response to your touch. “I’m going to hear what you want.” You nip at their inner thigh, and then soothe the spot with your tongue when they let out a little yelp. “Ree!” they huff, exasperated, and you smile and rest your cheek once more on their leg.

They’re correct to call you out on your attempts to distract them. You can’t help it, though—to simply accept their offers to hear and try out whatever you want seems far too greedy. If you get spoiled like this, what if you start to expect it all the time? 

You’ve got a bad history of acting out when you don’t get the things you think you’re entitled to.

You let your hand fall from under Chara’s shirt so you can push yourself to your feet, and they take a step back to give you room. Standing up, you can see Frisk watching you both, their thumbs hooked in the straps of their apron. The sight of their arousal pushing the apron up makes you grin even as your own boxers feel a little tighter. 

“You can tell us,” says Frisk. “Anything.”

“It’s—selfish,” you mumble, even as Chara takes you by the hand to sit at the edge of the bed with you. “You’ve already spoiled me today. I don’t want to be greedy.”

“I am willing to bet it is not as selfish as all that,” Chara says, firm. “And even if it is, there is no harm in asking, so long as you are willing to take ‘no’ for an answer.” They put a hand on your cheek, looking you in the eyes, their smile kind even as their eyebrows form a hard line. “We know why you worry about wanting too much. But you’re an adult now, and you know how to step back and think about how your actions affect other people. You know what moderation means, and how to accept not getting your way all the time. And it’s  _ okay _ to want things for yourself. You’re allowed to have fantasies of your own.”

Your eyes are wet yet again. You think there should be some kind of limit on how many tears you can produce in a single day. 

“I,” and you have to pause to gulp, and squeeze your eyes shut. Chara and Frisk wait while you regain your voice. “I want to be with both of you at once.” You blink your eyes open, and Chara is smiling, patient, listening for you to elaborate. “I want to be inside you while Frisk fucks me,” you say, and even if your voice dies to a whisper on the last words, you said it. 

You hear a noise from Frisk, and turn your head to see them biting their lip, their fists clenched around the straps of their apron. Their ears have gone red. “I’d like that,” they say, voice rough, the few words difficult to get out.

“Mm. That sounds like a good time,” Chara smiles. “Honestly, I’m surprised we’ve never done that before.”

You’d known they wouldn’t judge you for it. You’d known that even if they didn’t want to try it, they would have kindly let you down. But logically knowing that is different than seeing Frisk go rigid with desire, or hearing Chara’s approval. Chara leans in to kiss you, and you meet them without hesitation. 

“Thank you,” they say, quiet, once you break apart. They drop their hand, then, and Frisk’s replaces it, tilting your head up to meet them as they bend down. It’s a brief kiss, though they suck at your bottom lip when they pull away, and your breath hitches.

Frisk straightens, then hooks their thumbs in the apron straps around their waist. The bottom hem of the apron hangs aloft several inches away from their legs, now, and you’d reach out and flip the fabric up out of the way if not for Frisk’s smile, clearly planning something.

“Help me out of this?” they ask. Their voice is hitting that particular low and flirty tone that makes you and Chara both feel a little weak in the knees. “Chara tied some kind of knot in the back. I can’t get it.”

They turn their back to you, and it’s pretty clear that they could simply lift the apron over their head if they wanted. One cute bow is tied at their neck, and another loosely hangs at the small of their back. 

You settle your hands on their hips, first, and admire them. The hue of their skin, dotted with little moles here and there, framed by the pale fur of your paws. The curve of their ass, less pronounced than Chara’s, but no less appealing. The muscles of their thighs, visibly tense when you drag your claws lightly over their skin, following the path the straps make. Frisk shivers, and your fingers close around the bow. “It’s quite complicated,” Chara teases, as you slip a claw into the simple double knot and tug. “I had to make sure it wouldn’t come undone.”

You don’t rush, working the straps carefully, making sure not to tear anything. Once the first knot is undone, it’s a simple matter of pulling on the hanging straps for the rest of it to unravel, but you take your time, drawing out the motion. Eventually the knot comes undone completely, the straps brushing against Frisk’s skin as they fall, leaving the apron hanging from their neck only. You place your palms flat on Frisk’s sides, dragging your hands up their torso, their ribs, feeling them tremble under your fingers. Leaning forward, you let your hands slip under the loose apron, caressing them down their chest and stomach and thighs. You press your lips against their spine, right under their angled shoulder blades, and they let out a breathy moan that becomes your name. 

You straighten, withdrawing your hands from under their apron, and you have to reach a little to get at the knot at the back of their neck. They bow their head forward obligingly, lifting their hair out of the way, and every time your claws brush against their skin as you work the knot loose, they shiver. 

You pull the last strap out as slowly as you possibly can, until finally the knot comes apart and gravity takes hold, the apron falling to their feet. At the noise of all that fabric landing in a pile, you jolt, even though it was you that caused it. You can hear Frisk inhale and see their shoulders rise, and your own breath stutters. 

They turn slowly to face you and Chara. You take in the sight of them fully; their messy hair falling into their face, their broad shoulders and the subtle curve of muscle in their arms, the little patch of curls on their chest, their soft stomach, and the dark trail of little wiry hairs that leads down to their hard cock. An eager rush of heat goes through you. 

They settle themself on the edge of the bed next to you, coming in for a slower, more lingering kiss this time. They cup your face in their hands, drinking up the small moans that escape you as their tongue teases at your lips and teeth. You feel Chara shift to straddle your leg, and their hands start to creep under your shirt, fingers raking through your fur. They push your shirt up over your belly and chest, and you reluctantly pull away from Frisk and raise your arms to help them get it the rest of the way off. They have to rise up on their knees, and you have to bow your head a little, for them to tug the shirt clear of your horns. They throw it on top of Frisk’s apron as soon as you’re free of it.

Chara sits back down again on your leg, searing heat radiating through you where the two of you touch, and the shirt they’re wearing rides up as they straddle you. They don't pull it down, unabashed. “We can’t let you get too far gone, if you’re going to be in the middle, or else you’ll be done much too soon to enjoy yourself,” they say, taking note of the tent in your boxers. Their expression is tender and wanting both, their eyes half-lidded, their smile soft.

“Probably too late for that,” Frisk chuckles, pressing a kiss to your lower jaw. You'd pout, but they're kind of right. Anticipation alone has you fully erect, without either of your partners having touched you below the waist. 

Instead of pouting, however, you say, “I guess we shouldn't waste any time,” and set your hands on Chara's hips, grabbing the hem of their shirt. They lift their arms immediately, and in seconds the shirt drops to the floor. Their face is flushed, their cheeks and smile both bright, a light sheen of sweat highlighting their pale skin. With every breath, their chest rises, and you can’t be expected  _ not _ to raise your hands to cup their breasts, thumbing at their nipples. They moan, leaning forward and bracing themself with hands on your hips, and if you lift your head you can place little kisses at the place where their neck and shoulder meet, so obviously you do.

Chara’s fingers curl in the waistband of your boxers and start to tug them down. You regretfully have to take one hand away from their breasts so you can support yourself when you lift your hips. In the next moment, though, Chara is rising to stand, pulling your boxers down your legs. The undergarments join the pile on the floor, and you try to ignore the urge, even now, to hide yourself as you see Chara’s eyes travel hungrily up and down your form. Your cock doesn’t falter under the attention, at least, standing tall, wet at the tip. The bed shifts as Frisk moves as well, heading to the nightstand to grab the little bottle of lubricant, and Chara’s expression turns considering. 

“Did you have an idea in mind for how to do this?” they ask.

You nod. It’s less difficult and embarrassing to get the words out, now that you know your partners are both on board for the idea, even if it still makes you feel incredibly greedy to describe it. “I figured if you’re lying back, you and I can face each other, and Frisk behind me—that’s probably easiest.” 

“I think so, too.” 

They crawl back onto the bed, and there’s some shuffling around as the three of you sort yourselves out. A couple of pillows go under Chara’s hips, and you kneel between their legs, leaning over them as Frisk’s slick, wet fingers ease into you. You have to hold yourself up with your hands on the bedding to either side of Chara’s shoulders, and they reach up to stroke your ears and your neck. Frisk’s fingers inside you curl, and you cry out, dropping your head. Chara tugs lightly on your ears, pulling you the rest of the way down to them, and they kiss you deeply as you moan and tremble. Your hips rock back on their own, as Frisk slides their fingers in and out, and you want more, you want them deeper. There’s pain in the stretch of your muscles, as Frisk pushes in up to their knuckles, but more than that, stronger than that, pleasure sparks and shocks through you. 

“Steady, now,” whispers Chara against your lips, and you whine. “Do you think you can handle a little more?”

You nod without thinking, the motion tiny and jerky. Chara kisses you again, then takes your bottom lip gently between their teeth, running their tongue along it, at the same time Frisk’s fingers leave you. You whimper, feeling cold and wet and wanting from their absence, and Chara pulls you closer, their legs wrapping around your waist and bringing your hips flush against theirs. You have to break the kiss, then, the angle straining your back, and they gasp, small and sharp, when your cock rubs against them, trapped between you. Their legs loosen to give you just enough slack to pull back and angle your hips, and one of their hands drops down to guide you.

You slide into them, crying their name. You feel ablaze despite the slick wetness surrounding you, and a long and satisfied sigh falls from their lips as they take you in completely. “Chara,” you cry again, and they run their fingers down your back. 

“Ree,” they whisper, and though you know you have to stay still so Frisk can join you, you’re not sure you’d be able to move yet anyway, not without bursting. 

Frisk’s touch on your thighs feels like it should set you aflame. Somehow it doesn’t, as they bring their fingers up through your fur, their hands settling on the cheeks of your ass and their thumbs pressing in, baring you open. “Okay?” they ask, voice ragged.

It takes several seconds for you to rally your voice enough to answer. “Yes,” you breathe, and then, _ “Please.”  _ You let out a strangled groan, then, as Frisk presses against you. There’s a moment of resistance, before they push the head in, and the rest of their cock follows slick and easy after that. You take them inch by slow inch, until their thighs are flush to yours, until they’re buried fully inside you. 

Your chest is heaving, your mouth hanging open as you pant. Normally, none of you tend to need much time to wait or adjust before you start moving, but now Frisk holds themself still and runs the flat of their hand down your back, soothing you as you whine. There’s a moment when they reach Chara’s legs wrapped around your waist and the contact disappears, and you can only guess they’re giving Chara’s calves a similar treatment, before both their hands settle on your hips. 

The first few thrusts are shallow, tentative, as they and Chara adjust to moving together with you. When Frisk pushes into you, you’re sent deeper into Chara, the both of you crying out. Frisk’s hands on your hips help lead you into their rhythm, rocking your hips back just enough, and Chara’s thighs squeeze your waist and their heels press against you to pull you back in. Your eyes have fallen closed, and all you can think about is bucking forward to meet Chara’s demands, pushing back onto Frisk’s thrusts. Simply having them inside you is incredible enough, but when they hit the right angle, there’s a spot in you that’s like striking a match, a bright flare of pleasure. At the same time, Chara is hot and wet and perfect, clinging tightly when you withdraw, welcoming you warmly when you rock back into them, and the combination of sensations is quickly overwhelming. Your cries become loud, desperate moans as Frisk increases the pace, each thrust pounding a new noise out of you, be it either of their names or a wordless plea or a blissful, reverent, “Yes!”

Chara’s voice rises, little high-pitched sounds each time you sink into them, pushed as deep as they’ll take you when Frisk moves in you. They clench around you, and you shout, so close—too close, there’s no way you can bring either of your partners to orgasm this quickly, but with so much stimulation you’re already right at the edge. 

“Frisk,” says Chara, in a voice that’s only a little strained. Just in time, Frisk slows, their rapid thrusts dropping off into leisurely rocking their hips. You whine, wordlessly begging even as you’re grateful for Chara directing them to draw things out. At this lazy pace, Frisk pulls nearly entirely out of you, before sliding back in, a torturous drag inside you that makes you moan their name. You’re able to pay Chara the same favour, and their hands on your back pull you close enough that you can feel their breath on your neck when they groan. 

You open your eyes to look at them, and despite Frisk’s slowed, controlled movements, you nearly come at the sight that greets you. Chara’s head is thrown back, the lines of their neck stark and tense, and they’re biting at their lip when their mouth isn’t parted around a moan. Their bangs are stuck to their forehead with sweat, and you shift your weight to run your fingers through their hair. Their eyes fly open at the contact, and a smile blooms on their face to see you looking at them. You can just manage to drop your head to kiss them, and though it’s a strain on your neck, it’s worth it to moan into their mouth as Frisk moves in you. 

They start to speed up once again, stoking that pleasant blaze inside you, and you’re helpless to do anything but cry out as you match them thrust for thrust. Frisk’s hands tighten on your hips, their fingers digging in, their thighs hitting yours as they slam into you, their hips snapping forward shallow and quick. Chara yells both your names, not to slow you down this time but in encouragement and want, clenching down on you, and with a shout, you give them everything you have.

You moan and whimper, unable to keep their rhythm as you come. They slow down with you, letting your hips rock forward in a few final, jerky thrusts before you go still but for your trembling. 

You can hear Frisk’s panting alongside your own, as they hold themself unmoving, still hard inside you. Chara’s fingers rake through your fur as they lower their hands. They cup your face, giving you a long, slow kiss. “Good?” they ask into your mouth. 

When you answer, it’s with a voiceless breath, a heavy and emphatic, “ _Yes._ ” 

“I’m glad,” they say, carefully lowering their legs. You slide out of them as they do so, and their breath hitches with yours. 

Frisk’s arms come around you then, and they lift you until your back is flush to their chest. The new position causes them to shift inside you, and you give a weak cry, even that small spark of pleasure too much. Your fur sticks to their sweaty skin, in a way that you know is not really enjoyable for them, but it doesn’t stop them from nuzzling their face into your back and shoulders. Chara’s able to scoot to the side now that you’re not boxing them in, and they kneel up kiss you while Frisk holds you close. 

“We’ll have to do that again,” they say. “Maybe we’ll put Frisk in the middle next time.” Frisk moans, small and muffled, into your back, and Chara laughs. 

Frisk slowly pulls back, gently easing out of you, but you still feel abruptly bereft and empty once they’ve withdrawn. Chara kisses you again, and between the two of them, their steady hands supporting you, you don’t collapse onto the bed. You’re laid back onto the pillows, your breath coming a little slower now, but still loud and heavy. 

Chara and Frisk exchange a look, some silent message sent via their raised eyebrows, and then Chara moves to lean against Frisk, sitting just behind them and to the side so that they’re at the perfect angle to tilt their head and take Frisk’s earlobe gently between their teeth. Frisk stiffens, breath going sharp, and one of Chara’s hands snakes around them and down their front. They move teasingly slow, dragging fingernails lightly down their stomach and then their thighs. Frisk moans, rolling their hips, chasing after Chara’s touch, and they’re granted mercy as Chara takes them in hand. They’re still slick with lube and precome, and Chara’s fingers move quick and easy over them, jerking them off while you watch. Their eyes fall closed and their head falls back, Chara taking advantage of the angle to suck at their neck, and it doesn’t take long at all before Frisk is crying out, come shooting over Chara’s hand and their thighs and the bedding.

You muster up enough energy to sit up and grab the box of tissues off the nightstand, and Chara gratefully accepts them as Frisk catches their breath. You get what you can up from the bedding, though it’s all going to have to be washed, and Chara wipes Frisk’s trembling thighs (mostly) clean. You both toss the used, wadded up tissues in the direction of the trash can, and you both miss. Frisk chuckles, leaning back against Chara. 

“You’re heavy,” Chara grumbles without real ire, wrapping their arms around them, hands meeting in front of their stomach. Frisk sets their own hands on Chara’s, making a content little hum. You can see that the spot on their neck that Chara was working on is now dark and red. 

“Take care of you, too,” Frisk promises, tilting their head back to awkwardly try to nuzzle Chara’s cheek. It doesn’t quite work, but Chara’s face is going extra red as they make that particular irritated frown that you know means they’re trying not to look pleased. “Just need a second.”

The two of them sitting with their legs folded under them, embraced and leaning on each other, Frisk with their eyes closed and utterly relaxed, Chara burying their face in Frisk’s shoulder as their cheeks flush a brighter red, is a sight you want to keep forever. 

The words, “I love you,” tumble out of your mouth. Frisk’s eyes open, unhurried and slow, a warm smile spreading across their face, and Chara’s sharp eyes alight on you, their arms visibly tightening their hold around Frisk’s torso. 

“You, too,” they say together, voices a harmony of affection. Frisk squeezes Chara’s hands, and the two of them part in order to crawl up the bed to you, placing twin kisses on your cheeks. You laugh, unable to hide your joy, unwilling to hold it back. This time, you don’t mind the tears at your eyes.

Chara climbs into your lap, their lips migrating down to meet yours, and Frisk moves their mouth to your ear to whisper, in a voice that must still be completely audible to Chara, “Help me take care of ‘em?” You shiver at their breath on your ear, and nod as much as you can without breaking the kiss with Chara. Frisk chuckles, soft and low, then scoots down the bed. 

You realize their plan when they place their hands on Chara’s hips to turn them around. Chara makes a show of grumbling about having to stop kissing you, but at Frisk’s urging they sit between your legs with their back to your chest. Your arms immediately wrap around them, and their head is at the perfect height for nuzzling, so you do, happily nosing the crown of their head. They place their hands on yours as Frisk kneels between their legs, hands on their knees to spread them, and when they pause you can tell they’re taking in the sight of Chara in your arms and splayed out, wet and wanting. They raise their eyes to the two of you, and, waggling their eyebrows in a deliberately obnoxious manner, they lick their lips.

“Frisk, you absurd little imp, if you,” and you don’t get to hear the rest of Chara’s threat as Frisk drops down, tongue delving right in. Chara’s surprised gasp quickly grows into a pleased moan, and if you weren’t completely spent, you know you’d be growing hard again at even the simple sight of Frisk’s mouth closing over Chara. Their head makes small little bobs, tilting as they lick long strokes between Chara’s folds, and when they go still to focus on Chara’s clit, Chara pushes back into you, shouting Frisk’s name. Their hands have gone slack on yours, and you take advantage to reach up and palm their breasts. Their breath hitches when you close thumb and forefinger on their hard nipples, and they toss their head against your chest, gasping and moaning. You can feel them roll their hips up, urging Frisk for more. 

You see one of Frisk’s hands descend from its place on Chara’s thigh, disappearing under Frisk’s chin and between their legs, and at the same time Frisk starts humming. Chara yells and goes rigid, before falling slack against you, their voice giving way to loud, gasping breaths, their chest heaving under your hands. You can see Frisk give them a few, final slow licks, lifting their head and withdrawing their fingers. Chara turns their head to rub their cheek against your chest fur, making a happy little humming noise, and you press a kiss to the top of their head. You’re still cupping their breasts, and you give them one last, light squeeze before dropping your hands back down to their stomach. 

“Still taste a little like Asriel,” Frisk announces, wiping their mouth with the back of their hand. 

Your nose goes burning hot in an instant, and Chara barks out a laugh. “Frisk!” they yell, affecting a scandalized tone and pretending to kick at them. Frisk giggles, only to be interrupted when a yawn catches them by surprise. They smile blearily at you and Chara, then, and crawl up to join you, nestling in Chara’s lap and resting their head on Chara’s chest. You reach out one arm to pull them in a makeshift hug, and Chara cards their fingers through Frisk’s hair, obvious love and affection in the simple motion. You snuggle closer, or at least try to—you might already be pressed as close to your partners as it gets—and you huff out a contented sigh.

“Do you want to do anything else tonight?” asks Chara, tilting their head back to let you know the question is for you as well, even though they can’t really make eye contact from that angle. 

You consider. You’re surprisingly awake for your post-coital self, probably thanks to your long nap earlier, and it’s really not that late. Still. “All I want is to be lazy with you two,” you say. “If there’s something you want to do, I’m game, but I don’t really care.”

“Could watch something,” Frisk mumbles into Chara’s breast. 

“Netflix and chill?” says Chara, amusement clear in their voice. 

You furrow your brow, looking down at your partners. “Isn’t that…” you start, but then falter, embarrassed that you can’t keep up with Chara’s memes. “Am I misunderstanding?” you ask. 

Frisk chuckles. “Chara thinks they’re being ironic,” they say. “It means what you think.”

“Spoil my fun, why don’t you,” huffs Chara, but you tilt your head to the side just enough to see; they’re smiling. 

You kiss the shell of their ear, because you’re basically there anyway, and it startles a little noise out of them. “Netflix sounds nice, though,” you say. 

There’s a quiet moment, as all three of you realize there’s no TV in the bedroom, and everyone’s laptops are in the living room. 

Frisk groans quietly. “Don’t wanna get up,” they whine. 

“Can’t you just magic one of the laptops in here?” Chara asks you.

“Um,” you start. You don’t want to get up, nor do you want to be the voice of reason. But someone has to say it. “I don’t think that’s a very good idea after last time.”

They sigh, exaggerated and over-dramatic. “Fine,” they huff. 

It's all a bit of a farce, because the three of you have to clean up to varying degrees anyway, and once Frisk is actually back on their feet they start changing the bedding, somehow reenergized in the wake of their afterglow. (Still naked, though.) You pick up your shirt and boxers from the floor, slipping them back on, and Chara actually grabs a pair of briefs to wear under your shirt this time. They help Frisk with putting new sheets on the bed, and you take the old ones and Frisk's apron to the hamper. 

Once you've finished being actually responsible, Frisk pulls on a pair of boxers, and the three of you plop onto the living room sofa. You pretend to argue over what to watch, though you all know Chara's the one who cares the most about their cartoons, and they've been trying to get you to watch some new series lately. You and Frisk concede the remote to them after only a little heckling, and as the intro begins to play, the three of you settle back in the cushions, cuddled up together, their legs over yours and your arms around their shoulders, using only a fraction of the wide seating on the couch.

You know Chara wants you to pay attention to what's on the screen—and you will, you're sure you'll get wrapped up in the story almost as deeply as they do—but right now, you can't help but look at them. Their eyes are large with interest as they watch the screen, and their smile is relaxed in a way you almost never saw when you were children. They lean fully on you, limbs slack and loose, instead of perching tense and alert on the edge of the couch and ready to flee. On your other side, Frisk rubs their cheek against your shoulder where they rest their head, and their fingers curl loosely into your shirt. 

Fresh joy overflows in your heart, at knowing how fortunate you are to be here, alive and emotional and loved and cherished. You have two partners you adore, who support you through your difficulties and let you help them through theirs, and you share a comfortable and happy home together on the surface. You never could have imagined you’d come to have something so wonderful. Even when you were empty of all but want, your greedy heart couldn’t have come up with a fantasy so great as this to desire. And now this life is real, and it’s yours.

If you pull Chara and Frisk a little closer to you, they don’t mention, and Chara lets you pretend that you started crying at the emotional height of the episode, not from the very beginning. 

Maybe it’s more than you deserve, but you’re selfish and greedy and spoiled, and so you’ll cling fiercely to this happiness and joy for as long as you can. You don’t want to ever let go. 

But that’s okay. You know that Frisk and Chara will hold tight with all their determination, too. And if you forget sometimes, they’ll be right there to remind you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Belatedly, to my friend: thank you for requesting this. Who knows when I would have taken the time to write about my post-game OT3 if you hadn't asked me to write something! I had a really great time writing this and I've been so glad to hear your reactions to every chapter. 
> 
> It also occurs to me that I may have based part of this chapter on an Undertail illustration I did some time ago? [NSWF - telling Asriel he's a good boy....](http://dontlookitsfilthy.tumblr.com/post/143418262012/asriel-goes-down-on-both-of-his-partners-because)
> 
> Anyway, goodness knows if I'll return to write any more Undertail--this was certainly an undertaking, ba-dump tsh--but it's been very fun to write this smut train! Thanks for reading!


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